


And the Snake Bites You in the Ass

by Flywolf33



Series: Angels, Demons, and Hunters [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale falls but only part way, Aziraphale told Crowley so, BAMF!Aziraphale, Crowley Rises but only part way, Dean is an asshole, Fluff, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Karma - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Major Injury, Partial forgiveness, Pranks, Shoot first ask questions later, Somebody's ass is going to be kicked, Team Free Will, The Winchesters are judgey little shits, WHUMP!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywolf33/pseuds/Flywolf33
Summary: “Um, hi,” Sam said, “are you, um, Mr. A. Z. Fell?”Dean turned away again to pick up an old tome sitting on what appeared to be a front desk.“Yes, yes, that is me.  Could you please not touch that?”Dean jumped as he realized the second part was meant for him and quickly replaced the book, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture and returning to his brother’s side.“Great. I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean.  Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is long overdue; sorry for the delay! This is a sequel to [i]Sometimes it's Just Too Easy[/i]. You don't really have to read it to get what's going on, but basically the Ghostfacers investigated the shop, Crowley was a prankster, and Ed called Sam and Dean.
> 
> Here we are...
> 
> I'm mostly basing this somewhere in the range of season six of Supernatural, but I'm not going to be particularly specific about it so sorry if there are any inconsistencies. I'm going to twist canon for both series a little bit to make things fit, but my goal is to keep them as true as I can. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Originally this was supposed to be chapter two, but I thought it would be better tagged onto the end of One; sorry! I'll try to have a proper new chapter up this week!

Dean hated flying. He _really_ hated flying. He _especially_ hated flying overseas. And even more, he _extra_ hated landing and having to get a taxi. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have Cas just zap us over,” he grumbled again as he and Sam arrived at the hotel they’d be staying at. It was nicer than they were used to, but they couldn’t find any place more their speed in time for their sudden departure from the US. 

“He was busy,” Sam reminded him, “and you hate Angel Express.”

“I hate flying more,” Dean mumbled, flopping down on the bed he’d claimed as his.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a nap.”

“We have a job to do,” Sam said, as if Dean forgot. “Ed said the bookstore has weird hours. We should try and catch it before it closes.”

Dean cracked an eye at his brother, who was giving him that bitchy “I’m right and you know it” face. He huffed and followed a smug Sam out the door.

The bookshop wasn’t far – one of the reason’s they’d splurged on this particular hotel – and they could walk. _At least we don’t have to take another taxi._

“It’s open!” Sam said triumphantly as the pair rounded the corner.

It looked like exactly the kind of dinky old book store his nerd brother would enjoy. Dean started grumbling again. 

“Look, I don’t see why we needed to fly all the way here,” Dean said as a bell tinkled upon their entrance. “I mean, Ed and Harry? Come on,” he finished, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell of old books.

Sam gave him that bitchy look again. “They may be idiots, but at least they know what’s out there. Plus, they hate us. I don’t think they would have called if it wasn’t something weird.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I still think it’s a waste of time.”

Sam rolled his eyes and made a jab about the impala, to which Dean made a face and turned away to poke around.

“Hello!” A bright voice said. Dean glanced up to see a somewhat pudgy man appear from a back room. He was dressed in incredibly old fashion (to Dean, anyway). Dean’s gaydar immediately started screaming.

“Um, hi,” Sam said, “are you, um, Mr. A. Z. Fell?”

Dean turned away again to pick up an old tome sitting on what appeared to be a front desk.

“Yes, yes, that is me. Could you please not touch that?”

Dean jumped as he realized the second part was meant for him and quickly replaced the book, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture and returning to his brother’s side.

“Great. I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

The bookseller, Mr. Fell, seemed a little put off by this but managed to maintain a friendly smile, even if it was somewhat forced. “Well, you see, I was just getting ready to-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Sam insisted.

Mr. Fell’s blue eyes flicked between the brothers for a moment before his shoulders slumped slightly. “Of course. What can I help you with?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead wandered off to investigate while Sam did the boring part. He could hear them talking, asking all the standard questions while the bookseller got increasingly more flustered.

Most of the books on the shelves were old and dusty, yet immaculately cared for. Dean made a mental note to call Bobby later; he’d have a field day in here. He’d have something to say about the organizational system, as everything seemed mixed together, but the older hunter would probably kill to get his hands on some of the tomes Dean could see on the higher shelves.

He stood there for a moment, eyeing a particularly large volume that promised to be interesting and wondering if he could get away with tucking it into his jacket. He’d have to stand on his toes – not something he was used to having to do – but he was pretty sure he could reach it without being noticed.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Dean made a rather undignified noise as he jumped, whipping around to face a tall, lanky man leaning against the shelf with his arms crossed. He wore all black, jeans so tight it hurt just to _look_ at them.

_What kind of a douchebag wears sunglasses inside?_ Dean wondered. The shop was dimly lit as it was. “Wouldn’t what?” the Winchester asked after taking a moment to slow his heartrate. He hadn’t even heard the man approach!

He nodded to the book on the upper shelf. “Take the book. He’s not exactly fond of buyers.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “But this is a store.”

“Shop, and that doesn’t really matter to him.”

“Cr- _Anthony!_”

The man looked up over Dean’s shoulder and the older Winchester turned around to see Mr. Fell and his brother standing at the other end of the aisle. The bookseller’s face was a combination between stern and horrified.

“He wanted to buy your book,” The man, Anthony, said in a tone far more defensive than Dean thought would have been necessary.

Mr. Fell’s face darkened and Dean was quick to defend _himself_. “Not buying, just looking.”

The blond looked relieved before giving Anthony a pointed look, to which the much thinner man gave an exasperated sigh and mumbled “yeah, yeah,” and disappeared again.

“So sorry about him,” Mr. Fell tittered, ushering the Winchesters back towards the front. “I always tell him to announce his presence; he’s always sneaking about.”

“Er,” Dean managed to get out before the bookseller interrupted.

“If that’s quite all, I really must be closing now; lots of paperwork to do all that. Good evening!”

Dean didn’t remember stepping out the door, but he blinked and there they were, standing on the sidewalk outside the bookshop with the ‘closed’ sign swinging in the window.

“That was… _weird_.”

“I’ll say,” Sam replied with a frown. “He was pretty evasive with all his answers, but I didn’t notice anything overtly odd. Did you find anything?”

Dean shrugged as they started walking. “Only that Bobby would _love_ to get in there. I was thinking about trying to snag one of the books when that Anthony guy showed up. It kind of seemed like he knew what I was thinking.”

“Odd,” Sam repeated.

“Still thinking ‘trickster’, then?”

The taller brother shrugged. “We’ll have to keep an eye on the place for a couple of days to really be able to tell. I’ll look through some of the local news to see if there’s anything that fits Gabriel’s MO.”

Dean groaned. _Research_.

~~~

Crowley knew he was in trouble, but he wasn’t sure who to be more afraid of: the newest Americans – who were clearly hunters, if their line of questioning was anything to go by – or the angel now locking the door behind them.

The demon swallowed as Aziraphale turned around, face dark. He opened his mouth.

“Two doesn’t mean ‘paranormal hotspot’,” Crowley tried.

“That’s not what I was going to say and you know it,” Aziraphale huffed, brushing past his companion and heading for the back.

“How was I supposed to know they knew hunters that would take them seriously?” Crowley followed, feeling for all the world like a child trying to escape an inevitable scolding. Damn these hunters; he’d only just _barely_ gotten out of trouble with the angel from the first time! “They can’t be any more competent than those other idiots were.”

Aziraphale spun on his heel the moment they were through the door, face frighteningly blank. “They weren’t asking about cold spots and sulfur smells, Crowley,” he said coldly. “They wanted to know rather specific things about pranks and pointed encounters with karma. Sound like anybody we know?”

Crowley shrugged. “Not anybody _I_ know.”

“Gabriel went off the grid a few years ago, remember?”

“Ah, yes,” Crowley said. “Bounced around time, made himself a god; really fits in with his whole superiority complex.”

Annoyance flickered over the angel’s face before it returned to being completely blank. This alone frightened Crowley more than anything else; Aziraphale was always incredibly readable. This did not bode well for him.

“Angel,” he said softly.

“He played a trickster, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, ignoring him. “If these two interacted with him at all, they’ll know at least a _little_ bit about what they’re really facing.”

A pit formed in the demon’s stomach, but his mind was still racing to try to placate his partner. “But I’m-”

“Enough!” Aziraphale snapped, eyes lighting up – _literally_ lighting up with a blue glow. His body seemed to swell and crackle with energy as light emanated from behind him. 

Crowley flinched back, eyes wide and burning from the show of grace. He’d never actually been afraid of his angel until this moment.

The light was gone and Aziraphale back to normal. He looked startled by his own sudden power display and reached for Crowley, who cringed back. Aziraphale’s face softened. “My love,” he murmured, moving forward again. This time the demon allowed himself to be enveloped in a protective hug, his heart still racing in fear. “I’m only concerned for your safety.”

“What about _your_ safety?” Crowley fired back, though his words were hollow.

“Holy water is a rather easy commodity to get hold of, my dear, and hunters tend to carry it in their standard gear.”

The demon stiffened.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Aziraphale said firmly, his arms tightening possessively. “We need to lie low while I try to learn more about these two. Their names sound familiar and I need to know why.” He stepped back, though his hands stayed on Crowley’s shoulders. He offered a smile. “Promise you’ll behave yourself?”

Crowley nodded mutely. He hadn’t thought having a bit of fun with paranormal investigators – particularly ones as dumb as Glasses and Buttons – could lead them into _actual danger_.

Unfortunately, that meant Aziraphale was going to spend the night – likely longer – doing research, and that in turn meant Crowley was going to be _bored._

Maybe he should take a nap.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter again guys; mostly dialog, but there's some action coming, I promise!
> 
> Like I said last chapter, timelines are kinda weird, but basically this takes place about thirty years after the events of Good Omens.

“We have trouble.”

Crowley cracked an eye open to squint at Aziraphale, less than pleased about being woken from his nap. “We sure do,” he agreed.

The angel frowned. “These hunters are the serious kind. The _apocalypse stopping_ kind.”

Crowley sat up at that, all snark forgotten. “Come again?”

“There was a new attempted apocalypse centered in America a year or so ago; I guess they decided to go the vessel route-”

“Oh, I remember Azazel saying something about a bloodline project a couple centuries ago,” Crowley piped up.

The angel glared at him for the interruption and continued. “Well, those vessels decided they didn’t _want_ to be vessels and just… stopped it. Put Lucifer back in the cage… and Michael with him.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, and he wished for his sunglasses to hide behind – but Aziraphale had forbidden him to wear them when it was just the two of them in private. “They locked _Michael_ in the cage? With _Lucifer_?”

Aziraphale nodded, hands twitching nervously. “There’s a book series about them. The _Winchester Gospel_.”

“And I suppose you’ve already read it all?” Crowley asked wryly.

This earned him another stern look. “Of course I haven’t, it’s only been a night. I’ve been busy. But I skimmed the summaries. Could you take this a little more seriously? You’re in real danger.”

“How? I haven’t done anything wrong. I just played a few pranks on a couple of idiots.”

Aziraphale let out an exasperated sigh and Crowley only just managed to get his feet out of the way as the angel dropped onto the sofa. “I know, dear, but from the little I got read, they know holy water hurts the lower demons. I can’t see that they’ve had the chance to try it on a Fallen angel like you, since they _shot_ Azazel, so they wouldn’t know that it would…” His voice broke.

Crowley stared at him for a moment before leaning forward to drape an arm over the angel’s shoulders. “Okay. So we skip down for a while; take a holiday. Or we could go to France. Or Japan; we haven’t been to Japan in a millennium.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “You can go on ahead and I’ll let them look around here a bit before following; it would be suspicious if we both just vanished the day after they came in.”

Crowley didn’t like the idea of leaving Aziraphale alone to face hunters that had gone toe-to-toe with Lucifer and _won_. “Is splitting up the best idea?”

“Unless you have a better idea?” the angel looked up at Crowley with a pained expression. “I don’t want you to leave either, but I don’t see a better option.”

The demon deflated; he knew Aziraphale was right, but… “We’ll do it your way, Angel… but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Aziraphale gave him a small smile and a peck on the cheek. “I’m much harder to hurt than you, my dear,” he reminded him gently.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Sure, just remind me that you’re stronger than me every chance you get,” he smiled before sighing and standing. “I’ll go water my plants one more time and figure out where to go. I’ll come see you before I leave.”

“Best not come back here,” Aziraphale said, though his tone was reluctant. “Just phone me and I’ll make my preparations.”

A pang went through the demon, but he merely nodded. “Alright. Be safe, Angel. I’ll phone tonight.”

And with that, he was gone.

~~~

“What are they doing?” Dean asked again.

“Still just sitting around,” Sam said, exasperated. This was at least the twentieth time his brother had asked that question in the three hours they’d been at the café. It was conveniently located just across the street from the bookstore and they could keep an eye on the strange pair with a set of mini binoculars. “That Anthony guy is sleeping on the couch and Mr. Fell is at the desk fiddling around on that ancient computer.”

Dean groaned.

“Wait- he just got up.”

Dean sat up and leaned forward, peering out the window and trying to make out anything going on in the store. He could see vague shapes, but the shop was so dimly lit there wasn’t much visible.

“They’re talking now.”

The elder Winchester slumped. He was _so bored_. “Why are we doing this again?”

“All the reviews I found on Yelp agreed that there’s something weird about the store itself,” Sam explained, also for the twentieth time. 

“Ugh.”

Sam suddenly sat upright. “Dean!”

“What?”

“He disappeared!”

“What?” Dean said again, but this time in a more confused tone.

“They were talking and then the creepy one stood up and just _vanished!”_

Dean snatched the binoculars and directed them at the store’s window, only to find it’s blond owner bustling about tidying things up before disappearing from the room. He appeared in the shop entrance a moment later, flipping the sign to ‘open’.

“More research?” Dean asked, lowering the binoculars.

“More research,” Sam agreed.

“This trip just keeps getting better and _better_,” Dean grumbled.

They made their way back to the hotel, where Sam immediately pulled out his computer and began typing away and Dean flopped across his bed to get comfy before turning to google. He stared at the screen for a moment before snapping the laptop shut and rolling to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked as Dean headed for the door.

“I don’t know; get some beer or something. I’ll go crazy if I have to spend another night staring at a computer screen.”

Sam shrugged. “Pick up some dinner while you’re out.”

Dean made a face but didn’t argue and instead headed down the street. He had no idea where he was going, but he would find _something._ Maybe he could call Cas, see if the angel knew anything; or maybe he’d run into one of the strange book store men while walking.

Like he was ever that lucky.

Cas it was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start to connect the dots

Dean stared at his phone blankly after Cas hung up. He’d been unhelpful, for the most part; though he had said there was an angel posted in the area, but the last he’d checked nobody had heard from them in at least thirty years.

At least he’d promised to look into it.

The part that stuck out to him the most was the mention of a previous attempt at the apocalypse, though they’d tried things differently.

Dean dialed another number while he walked. “Sam, hey,” he said when his brother answered.

“Find anything?”

“Not yet, but I talked to Cas. He said something about another attempted apocalypse here about thirty years ago. Have you seen anything that might point to that?”

Sam hummed and Dean could hear the clicking of computer keys before his brother replied. “There are quite a few new articles about weird things happening, but most of them were followed up by claims it was a hoax.”

“What do you think?” Dean stepped back to move out of the way of a woman pushing a stroller.

“I think it’s possible. Everything here points to raining fish and a sea monster rising and… wait, this says Tibetans were popping up out of tunnels in the earth?”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Sounds like tabloid garbage.”

There was a moment of silence before Sam made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and Dean assumed he’d shrugged. “Did Cas say anything else?”

Just then Dean spotted the bookseller hurrying across the street. “I’ll call you back,” Dean hung up and glanced around for traffic before following the harried blond. He ducked into the same café they’d been watching them from that morning.

“Good morning Mr. Fell!” Dean heard the barista say as the door swung shut and he hurried to catch it. 

He slipped in behind a couple other patrons on their way in and quickly sidled over to a small booth where he could listen in on Mr. Fell’s conversation at the counter without being in the line of sight.

“How long?” the girl at the register was asking.

“Oh, a few weeks perhaps. Maybe longer. I won’t be leaving for a few days yet; just need to get a few things taken care of, but I wanted to make sure you’d be available.”

“Of course! I’m always happy to keep an eye on the shop for you. I take it Mr. Crowley will be going with you?”

Dean’s head snapped up. She’d pronounced it differently, but there was no mistaking it was the same name.

“Oh, um, yes,” Mr. Fell sounded somewhat flustered. “He’s gone on ahead while I sort things out here.”

“Give him my love!”

The bookseller gave a mumbled affirmation and hustled out. Dean waited until he was back across the street and vanishing into his shop before leaving the café and immediately calling Sam back. “There’s a Crowley,” he said without a greeting.

“What?”

“Fell just went into the café; it sounds like he’s leaving town,” Dean said, swiftly making his way back in the direction of the hotel. “He was asking the girl there to keep an eye on the shop.”

“Did you hear how long we have? And what about Crowley?”

“Now Cr-_ow_-ley, _Crow_-ley. Like the bird.”

“Yeah, whatever. How long?”

“Sounds like Fell will be here a few more days, but he said this ‘Crowley’ guy went ahead.”

Sam swore. “Do you think he means that Anthony guy?”

Dean shrugged, realized Sam couldn’t see him, and hummed instead. “Maybe. Look, I’m almost back; I can explain more in a minute.” He hung up and rushed through the hotel lobby, nodding at the receptionist on his way past.

“So get this,” Sam said the moment the door closed behind Dean. “A lot of these events centered around a town called Tadfield, a couple hours from here. The entire M25 – that’s a freeway here – burst into flames, but there was never any damage reported, and nothing in the newspapers. Just this buried police dispatch report.”

Dean frowned. “Okay, sounds demonic. So say there was an attempted apocalypse here; do you think they’d try again?”

Same shrugged. “We could always call Crowley and see why he’s over here,” he suggested.

Dean made a face. “I’d rather not. If he’s up to something, I don’t exactly want him to know we’re on his trail.”

“It’s not your Crowley.”

The Winchesters both jumped, turning to face Castiel with sour expressions. “Cas,” Dean said petulantly.

The angel ignored their annoyance and strode across the hotel room towards them. “The demon Crowley,” Cas started, pronouncing it like the bird, “was one of the original demons, and was the Original Sin. He was stationed here and tasked with bringing out the last attempt at the apocalypse.”

“Was?” Sam asked, turning in his seat to face Cas as he stopped on he other side of the small table.

“I couldn’t find anything on him after the antichrist sent Lucifer to the cage.”

“Wait, I thought _Michael_ put Lucifer in the cage?”

Cas gave Sam an irritated look. “It’s complicated.”

The younger Winchester held up his hands and allowed the angel to continue.

“At the same time the Principality Aziraphale was stationed here to support Heaven’s interests in the matter. There’s nothing on him after the attempt either. They both just… vanished. Killed, I assume.”

The angel seemed to sense Dean’s slew of questions because he cut him off before he could even open his mouth. “The point is, nobody really knows what happened to Crowley and Aziraphale after the attempted Armageddon.”

“Wait… Aziraphale?” Sam’s brow furrowed. 

“What?” Dean asked.

“Aziraphale… doesn’t that sound a lot like…. Like ‘A. Z. Fell’?”

Dean’s eyes widened. “The angel is the bookseller?”

Cas looked confused. “Bookseller?”

The brothers ignored him. “But if Aziraphale is the bookseller, why would Crowley be hanging around? Don’t most demons avoid angels?” Dean continued.

“Rumor has it they were friends,” Cas said. “Bookseller?”

“Let’s finish filling you in,” Sam sighed, closing his laptop. “If we’re going up against and angel and a demon who’ve managed to stay under Heaven’s radar for thirty years, we’re going to need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the wait! Things should start to pick up soon, so thank you for your patience!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go sideways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a brief edit to the last chapter; just deleted a paragraph or two for continuity.
> 
> Huge thanks to my friend Brickosaur for the beta on this chapter!

Aziraphale was just finishing packing the last of his things when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, angel,” came the soft reply.

“Are you all set, my dear?” Aziraphale’s voice quieted and he leaned against the desk.

There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end. “I don’t like this,” Crowley murmured. “Are you sure we can’t just go together?”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of the angel’s mouth. “Yes, Crowley. My disappearance will create even more suspicion. They have no reason to suspect I’m an angel; I doubt I’m like any of the others they may have met.”

The shop bell jingled, but Aziraphale ignored it.

“I just don’t like it,” Crowley repeated, then sighed. “I’ll go to the cottage in the South Downs to wait for you. We can plan where to go next once we’re _both_ there.”

“Crowley, my dear, that might not-”

“I’m not leaving the country when you could be in danger!” the demon’s voice crackled loudly over the phone. He took a deep breath. “This way I’m close enough to get to you if anything happens. Promise me, angel,” he said softer. “Promise me you’ll call if you need help.”

Aziraphale hesitated, but gave in. “I promise.”

There was a sigh of relief from the other end. “I’ll call you once I’m there, angel. I love you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I love you too my dear.”

He returned the phone to its cradle.

“Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale startled at the sound of the American accent.

“I’m afraid I’m just getting ready to close now,” he said in a chipper voice as he turned to face the taller of the brothers, who was standing in his shop alone. The man’s posture was different enough from his previous visit to make Aziraphale falter. He held himself warily, like he was ready for a fight at any moment.

“I was just wondering how long you’ve known Crowley?” The man – Aziraphale was pretty sure he’d introduced himself as Sam – asked.

“Oh, a very long-” Aziraphale cut himself off, realizing his mistake the moment the triumph appeared in Sam’s eyes. “Did you say _Crowley_? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with a Crowley,” he said quickly, wringing his hands.

“That so?” The other brother said, emerging from between the bookshelves and making the angel jump. He had a gun pointed at Aziraphale’s head.

Aziraphale forced himself to remain calm. Crowley was out of danger, and he was confident he was strong enough to get himself out of any physical altercation that might take place, despite his lack of practice. He _did_ deal with unwanted customers most days. The gun was a little unexpected, but he’d made it back to earth after discorporation before. Maybe he could find Adam again; he was still in England somewhere.

His smile turned cold, voice taking on the same chill he used for those that tried to elbow him into selling his shop. “I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.”

“Well, we have it on good authority that your friend _Anthony_ goes by another name,” the shorter of the two – Dean? – stalked closer. “So we were curious, Mr. Fell,” he smiled, but it was far from friendly. “…Or would you prefer to be called Aziraphale?”

The angel’s eyes widened, and he backed away from the advancing men. How did they…? “I’m sure I don’t know what-”

There was a quiet rush of feathers behind him and Aziraphale sensed the warmth of another angel. He whipped around to see a third man in a trench coat. This angel was obviously wearing a vessel and not their own corporation, but the fluid way they moved suggested they’d inhabited it long enough to be completely comfortable in it. Before Aziraphale could register his surprise, the other angel had clicked a pair of cold metal cuffs around his wrists. The moment they closed, Aziraphale felt drained. He finally felt panic rising in his chest as he realized he was cut off from his angelic power.

He tried to yank away from the taller angel, but something hard cracked across the back of his head and everything went black.

____________________

Crowley paced in the cottage, worrying. Aziraphale hadn’t answered when he’d called to let him know he’d arrived, and the angel hadn’t called back. There was no way his fretting friend wouldn’t check in, especially with the apparent danger.

That’s it. He was going back. He had to make sure Aziraphale was okay, and damn the consequences. If he was alright, the angel was certainly going to be angry with him, but Crowley could handle that. It was his own fault for not picking up the phone anyway.

____________________________

The bookshop was locked, the ‘closed’ sign in the window. Crowley couldn’t believe his angel would have popped out before receiving his call, or warning him he might be out and not to worry. He miracle himself inside and immediately knew something was wrong. He had visions of the shelves in flames, books falling from their places and scattering embers.

But that was thirty years ago. Instead of scorching fire, the shop seemed cold, with an uneasy stillness. There was a sharp smell in the air that didn’t belong; iron and grace, sticky on his tongue. Keen eyes quickly found the source: dark crimson spots on the ground. 

Crowley’s heart pounded as his head snapped up, searching the shop for any sign of whoever had done this. The blood was obviously the angel’s; the scent of Grace was enough to prove that. He was only mildly relieved to find he couldn’t sense anyone else, but as he flicked his snake’s tongue out to taste the air a snarl bubbled in his throat.

_The hunters._

There was a fourth person he didn’t recognize, but he had no way of knowing if they were involved or if it was just another customer.

There wasn’t an ozone in the air, which meant Aziraphale hadn’t been discorporated; at least not here. They’d taken him somewhere.

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing deep down. He hadn’t had to do this in a long time; not since 1941. He could still feel that faint thrumming deep behind his breastbone that meant Aziraphale was still alive. He sighed and held onto that for a moment before opening his eyes, striding from the shop (and making sure to lock the door behind him) and sliding into the Bentley.

He needn’t have bothered; the string tying him to his angel led him around the corner and up the street to a hotel. Crowley parked and stared at the building for a moment. Had they _really_ just taken an angel to their _hotel room_? Maybe they weren’t as competent as they’d seemed.

Even so, Crowley was cautious as he slipped inside, hiding himself from the hotel staff and sidling up the staircase to the room he felt Aziraphale in. He could hear muffled voices inside.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have found somewhere else?” one of the men said.

“And risk getting lost? No way. Besides, we need to keep an eye out for Crowley; how’s he supposed to show up if we go _him_ somewhere random?” another man said. Crowley recognized this voice as belonging to the man who’d tried to take one of the books.

“I keep telling you; his name is Anthony. _Anthony_. Whoever you are, you have the wrong people!”

“Shut up,” the last voice snapped.

Crowley’s blood boiled. His angel’s voice was slurred; he was clearly hurt badly enough to affect his thought process. Or drugged, he supposed.

A new voice spoke up, this one deep and gravelly. “Dean,” it warned.

The room fell into silence.

Crowley heard footsteps coming to the door. He decided on dramatic and tucked his sunglasses in his pocket. With the level of stress he was under right now, he was sure his eyes were completely yellow. He allowed his fangs to elongate; it couldn’t hurt to go for the creepy vibe. 

The door opened to reveal a man in trench coat, scowling and holding a silver, triangular blade at the ready. Crowley resisted the urge to blink in surprise; they had an angel too, apparently. The American hunters were further back in the room, both with guns trained on their Crowley.

The demon gave them his best smile. “Hello,” he said cheerfully, with just a hint of menace. “I believe you have my angel.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I have a fair bit of the next chapter done too so hopefully I can get that up within a few days! Thanks for your patience with this one, and your lovely comments! I try to reply to as many as I can!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minor confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read! As promised, I updated fast. I realize last chapter had a bit of a cliffhanger, so hopefully this chapter is better :)

There was a moment of silence.

“What the fuck.”

The taller of the hunters shot an annoyed glance at the other for swearing, but he seemed more interested in his eyes. “Yellow eyes,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not a Prince of Hell,” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. “These are far better looking than theirs, the posers.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said in a pained groan, though the demon couldn’t tell if it was genuine pain or just because he was exasperated.

“What are you?” the angel in the doorway asked, squinting at him. “You’re like no demon I’ve seen.”

Crowley just gave him a winning smile and flicked his serpent’s tongue at him. He usually didn’t keep it that way, but he was agitated and wanted to make the men as uncomfortable as possible.

“What does he look like?” the shorter hunter asked.

“Dean, is that really important?” the taller said.

“He… looks like a serpent.”

“A serpent? What, like a snake?”

An irritated looked came over the angel’s face as he turned to berate Dean. “Yes, Dean, a snake.”

“_The_ snake,” Crowley added helpfully.

“Wait,” the taller hunter’s brow furrowed. “Like, the Serpent of Eden?”

“The one and the same!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again, this time his voice clearly irritated.

“Ah, yes. Right. Mind if I come in? Thanks.” Without waiting for an answer Crowley pressed forward, sliding past the stunned Trenchcoat and into the room. Aziraphale was tied to a chair in the corner – which was an odd look in and of itself, given hotel chairs were quite plush – with his cuffed hands in front of him. Dried blood caked the side of his face and he wore a somewhat dizzy expression, though it was mostly overshadowed by a combination of annoyance and worry.

“What the-” Dean said behind him.

Rage boiled in Crowley’s chest. What on Earth had they done to deserve this kind of treatment? He appraised his angel for a moment. “Too many frivolous miracles?”

Aziraphale’s expression soured further. “Is this really the time?”

Crowley shrugged. “The last time you were all trussed up you were waiting for a guillotine.” He paused, then flashed a wicked smile. “At least, the last time you were trussed up against your will.”

Aziraphale had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Gross,” Dean muttered.

“These block my power somehow,” Aziraphale explained, lifting his wrists as much as he could around the ropes.

Crowley swung back around to face the hunters fully. Their angel had closed the door, but was still wearing a constipated expression. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“I do believe they were laying a trap for you, dearest,” Aziraphale supplied helpfully while the hunters exchanged a look.

“And you’re right where we want you,” the taller man – Crowley thought he’d call him Moose; he seemed like the type to throw his weight around – said.

They still had their guns on him. Crowley raised his eyebrows and had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the constipated expressions the hunters wore when they realized they were holding rubber ducks.

While they were distracted, Crowley flicked a finger at them, tying their shoelaces together. He crossed the rest of the room to Aziraphale and melted the rope before examining the cuffs. He couldn’t seem to simply unlock them like he’d been able to in the past.

“What the _fuck_!” came a second exclamation from Dean.

“What the hell kind of demon casually walks out of a devil’s trap?” Sam said.

“This one,” Crowley hummed idly, lifting Aziraphale’s hands so he could look over the cuffs a little better. He pinched the chain connecting them and heated his fingers enough to melt the metal. They snapped apart.

Aziraphale sighed. “That helped, but I still can’t quite reach.”

Crowley frowned.

As he started carefully melting the locking point he heard a grunt and three thumps. Aziraphale sighed again. “Really, Crowley? Their shoelaces?”

The demon grinned up at his angel. “If it isn’t broken…”

“Yes, dear, you told me last time.”

The cuff fell away and Crowley started on the second one.

“What kind of demon ties shoelaces together?” Moose muttered.

“Enough of this,” Trenchcoat snapped, and there was a popping sound.

Aziraphale gasped in relief as the second cuff dropped off and Crowley swiftly healed the wound on his head.

The angel’s eyes suddenly widened, and he dove around Crowley, crying his name.

Crowley was aware of two things simultaneously: Aziraphale’s wings wrapping around him even as he pulled the demon into a protective embrace, and burning pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced splashing across his back. Crowley heard screaming, and he was pretty sure it was him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually a minor confrontation this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...
> 
> I thought about making you guys wait <s>because I'm evil</s>, but I had a stressful day at work and wanted to share the chapter because I'm nice. But don't tell anyone that.
> 
> So here's the chapter. I hope this is alright; let me know what you guys think and if you see any typos/grammar errors. Thanks!

“No no no!” Aziraphale cried, clutching a limp Crowley against his chest and tightening his wings around them. The demon was smoking slightly and a sizzling sound filled the air. “Crowley, wake up dear, open your eyes!”

The demon blinked blearily up at him. “Ow,” he gurgled.

“Holy water, dearest. How can I fix it?”

“Nngk,” Crowley helped helpfully.

Aziraphale rolled his friend toward him just enough to look at his back. His clothes had melted where the holy water had made it through his wings and the demon’s flesh appeared to be boiling. The damage was slowly spreading, appearing to work itself deeper as well as moving outward. Aziraphale placed his hand over the spot without touching it and attempted to heal it. Crowley hissed, but it had the effect of halting the water’s progress.

There was muffled shouting coming from beyond the cocoon of wings and rage filled Aziraphale, finally overtaking his panic. He cradled Crowley as he parted his wings and stood, allowing his fury to illuminate him in a faint glow. 

The two hunters stood frozen in place, Dean’s arm still flung out with a flask hanging in his hand. Both men were trying to call out through clenched lips. Their angel had a very puzzled expression. Aziraphale could feel him tugging against the hold.

“What in Heaven’s name has Crowley done to warrant a _death sentence_?” He said, voice low and cold with the kind of fury he hadn’t had since Alexandria.

He released their mouths so they could answer, but he kept a firm hold on the rest of their bodies. He would not be taken by surprise again; not with a prone Crowley slipping in and out of consciousness in his arms.

Dean glared at him. “He’s a _demon_!”

“A demon who stopped the apocalypse,” Aziraphale snarled. “A demon who, even when in the service of Hell, preferred harmless pranks and low-level inconveniences to true evil.”

“The rumors are true?” the other angel asked.

“What do you mean a death sentence?” Sam said at the same time. “Holy water doesn’t kill demons.”

“We can see your wings,” Dean added stupidly.

“I’m in my own corporation, not a stolen vessel,” Aziraphale snapped at the shorter brother before turning on Sam. “Demons are protected in vessels, but Holy water kills demons in their own bodies. You will help me fix him.” He said firmly.

The men blinked, and the angel just scowled harder.

“Cas, what’s happening?” Dean muttered with a pained look.

“He’s pushing on your minds,” the angel, Cas, said.

“You hurt you, you will help me fix him. I’ve read about you two; I know you’ve worked with demons before.” Aziraphale looked pointedly at Cas. “And you have too.”

“What makes you think we’ll help _you?_” Dean pushed.

Aziraphale fixed him with a stony stare. “What ‘rumors’ have you heard?”

Cas answered again while Dean tried to stare Aziraphale down. “There was an attempt and you were involved, but nothing after.”

“We did try to stop it,” Aziraphale said, maintaining eye contact with the shorter hunter. “It was Crowley’s idea, actually. He wanted to influence the Antichrist to love the Earth. To neutralize it, as it were. My plan, however,” he paused, raising his eyebrows, “was to merely kill the child. Crowley was very much against that.”

The demon stirred in Aziraphale’s arms, clenching his fists around the angel’s vest and groaning. Aziraphale glanced down at him before returning his piercing stare to the frozen men before him. His wings puffed up. “You will help me fix him, or I’ll… well, I’ll think of something.”

“Sam?” Dean said.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

To Aziraphale’s surprise, it was Cas who spoke up. “I think finding a way to heal the damage is in our best interest.”

“Healing a demon, though?”

“Think about it; even with the other two, there’s been nothing but ridiculous but harmless jokes. Nobody’s been hurt, and he left town rather than attack us, until we took Aziraphale,” the angel pointed out.

Dean groaned. “Fine! Just let me go already!”

Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley before releasing the trio and folding his wings away.

Dean rushed to his brother and looked him over before turning a glare on his former prisoner. “Alright, where do we start?”

“I rather think my shop would be an excellent place to research,” Aziraphale said, miracling them there.

“Man, I _hate_ angels!” Dean grumbled under his breath.

Aziraphale elected to ignore him and move to the settee, where he gently laid Crowley on his side. “Hold on, dearest,” he murmured in his ear.

His eyelids twitched and he was able to meet his angel’s gaze for a moment. “Herbs,” the demon breathed, so quiet Aziraphale almost didn’t hear him.

“Herbs?”

“Mm.” His eyes flickered shut again.

“Herbs,” Aziraphale announced to the room. The hunters stood awkwardly for a moment. The bookshop owner sighed and waved his head to a series of shelves to his right. “Occult section is over there. I moved the best ones to the back; I’ll go get them.” He stood, then paused, glancing between the men and Crowley on the couch. “Do not touch him.” He waited until he received three nods before heading back to collect everything he’d hidden when they arrived.

_________________________

“What the hell is going on,” Dean demanded the moment the strange book store owner left the room.

“I told you they were old,” Cas said.

Sam paced around the couch to cautiously look at the demon passed out across it. “I don’t think he was lying,” he said quietly. “Come look at this.”

Dean huffed as he shuffled over to see what Sam was looking at. Dean had seen a lot of strange things and liked to think he had a pretty strong stomach, but when he saw the melted flesh across Crowley’s back, sunken far enough in to reveal parts of his spine, he couldn’t help gagging.

“I’ve never seen a demon react like this,” Sam mused.

“What kind of demon is powerful enough to walk through devil’s traps without even pausing but gets taken down by a few drops of Holy water? The angel blocked most of it with his wings,” Dean grumbled. 

“Crowley is a Fallen angel,” Aziraphale said as he returned, startling the brothers. “Most demons now are human souls converted; Crowley calls them ‘lesser demons’.”

“Is that what you meant by ‘one of the originals’?” Sam asked Cas.

“Yes,” he replied, as if it was obvious.

Dean interrupted their conversation with a groan when he saw the stack of books in Aziraphale’s arms. “More research,” he muttered. “Always more research.”

“You’re the one who threw Holy water,” Sam pointed out.

“How was I supposed to know it wouldn’t just sting?” his brother cried, flinging his hands in the air. “It’s never done that before!”

“You shouldn’t have jumped straight into violence,” Aziraphale said, his voice somehow prim and hostile at the same time. “He turned an entire range of paintball guns into real guns just because they stained by coat. You’re lucky all he did was tie your shoelaces together.”

“You don’t know he wouldn’t have hurt us once he got you,” Dean shot back.

“I’ve known him for 6000 years.”

Dean didn’t have a good response, and apparently neither did Sam or Cas because there was silence.

“Find a way to fix him.” Aziraphale said firmly, holding the stack out to them.

Dean groaned again and took several volumes off the top before flopping down in one of the chairs and opening the first one. “This is what I get for trying to help out Ed and Harry.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angels have a chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this one took a little longer! It is at least a longer chapter, for the time it took! I wrote most of it in my head at work yesterday, actually. I'm surprised I remembered it long enough to get it down before bed.
> 
> To everyone commenting on my world building, thank you so much! It was what I was worried about the most since both universes are so beloved by so many people, and also very different. I'll admit there are some inconsistencies because I don't want to take the energy to figure out how to make them work (*cough* Gabriel *cough cough*) but they're not especially important to the plot so...
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your encouraging words! I'm really glad it's coming together in a way you guys like. It seriously means so much to me.
> 
> Without further ado: here's your chapter!

He really should be helping. Nobody knew the bookshop like Aziraphale and he didn’t think leaving such dangerous hunters to roam his shelves was a good idea. Even so, every time he tried to walk away from Crowley, Aziraphale heard the echoes of the demon’s shrieking and his ears rang in the sudden screaming silence that immediately followed. He could still feel the way Crowley had writhed in his arms for a few eternal seconds before falling completely limp.

More than that, it was taking all his focus to keep the Holy water’s effects from spreading. Every time his attention wavered, he could feel it sinking further into the demon’s essence. It was exhausting.

Aziraphale finally decided to settle himself on the very edge of the settee and rested Crowley’s hand in his. He could hear the rustle of pages and quiet complaining from Dean, but he didn’t take his gaze from Crowley’s face. The demon had likely knocked himself out on purpose to escape the pain, but that made it hard far Aziraphale to tell how far the Holy water had gotten and how much of his corporation was damaged. All he could see was the flickering of his essence.

He finally closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The effort he was exerting to keep Crowley alive suddenly dropped and Aziraphale bolted up, eyes wide and panicked until he saw the other angel standing by Crowley’s head. He had two fingers pressed against the demon’s temple. “I can help,” he said.

Aziraphale eyed him. “Why do you care?”

“There was rumor you two were friends, but I didn’t realize…” he glanced down at the unconscious demon. There was a moment of silence before he asked, “May I sit?”

Aziraphale hesitated, then miracle a chair next to him. The hunter’s angel nodded a thanks and sat, keeping his fingers firmly against Crowley’s skin.

“I suppose I could use the assistance, er…”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel. Right,” Aziraphale remembered reading in his cursory research into the Winchesters that they’d worked with a Castiel. “You didn’t answer my question though; why do you suddenly care?”

Castiel was silent long enough that Aziraphale almost thought he wouldn’t answer. “I understand what it’s like,” he murmured, and Aziraphale followed his gaze to Dean, who was rubbing his temples and grumbling while he squinted at a book, “to love someone Heaven doesn’t approve of.”

It suddenly fell into place; he could feel the love emanating from the other angel, but he’d mistaken it for simple Heavenly love. Now that he had the capacity to home in on it, he recognized it for what it was. He knew angels in vessels couldn’t sense the emotion like he could, and Aziraphale didn’t dare poke closer into Dean’s obvious affection to see if he reciprocated. It wasn’t for him.

He felt his expression softening and he quickly looked away, not ready to forgive him for his role in the mess they were now in.

Castiel shifted his weight in the seat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose, but don’t think I’ve forgotten it was you who put those chains on me.”

The other angel had the decency to look contrite, but he asked anyway. “There’s not a lot of information about your involvement in the apocalypse attempt here, and nothing after. What happened?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it back out. “In the end, we didn’t really do much. We made quite the effort in all the wrong places, but it worked out.”

“The antichrist?”

“Adam, though at the time we thought it was Warlock Dowling. Crowley’s idea was for us to be… sort of godfathers to him. Our influences would cancel each other out and when the time came, he’d reject his power and Armageddon wouldn’t happen,” Aziraphale began, voice still hushed so as to not disturb the two hunters in their reading. “We only discovered we had the wrong boy on his eleventh birthday, when the hellhound he was supposed to receive failed to appear. After that we spent a lot of time trying to locate the _real_ Antichrist. I’m afraid I was rather cruel to Crowley, then, despite our friendship of 6000 years.” 

Aziraphale still felt horribly guilty about the things he’d said to his friend, despite knowing exactly how Crowley felt. It had taken several years to repair the damage, and the angel knew it sometimes resurfaced, even now.

“How did it end up resolving?”

“Adam had a normal, human childhood, and in the end he was humanity incarnate. He loved the Earth far too much to allow it to be destroyed. We were there, when he and his friends turned the horsemen aside and banished Lucifer. He still checks in, every so often. Sends a card for Christmas.” Aziraphale smiled. “He’s got two children of his own now.”

Castiel nodded. “And Heaven and Hell just let you go?”

Aziraphale snorted. “Goodness, no. We’re meant to be dead, actually, but one Agnes Nutter gave us a little help and we were able to…” he hesitated, still fearing to give up their secret, “_convince_ them to let us be, and they have. I expect they were embarrassed.”

The other angel looked thoughtful. “Why did you try and stop it?”

“At the time?” The principality swallowed. “It was the earth. I was used to my comforts and had grown quite fond of humans. At least, that’s what I told myself. Now I know that wasn’t the case.” He looked fondly at his demon and reached out to brush some of his fiery hair from his face.

“That’s it, I can’t do this without some food,” Dean declared, throwing his hands up and leaning back in his chair before standing and heading for the door.

“Dean,” Sam said, irritation thick in his voice.

“You can order some pizza,” Aziraphale snapped, not willing to let the hunter leave the shop until he found a way to fix Crowley.

Dean grumbled but returned to his chair, stretching out and pulling out his phone.

“I’m going to call Bobby,” Sam said a minute later. “He might have something in his library or know someone who can think of something.”

“Who’s Bobby?” Aziraphale asked as Sam moved off into the shelves to make his call.

“He’s another hunter,” Castiel explained. “He’s… like their father, almost.”

“He has a library?”

“His collection is not quite as extensive as yours and is limited to lore, but it _is _impressive.”

Aziraphale thought he might be able to like this hunter. Maybe he could get a look at Bobby’s collection someday and see if there was anything he didn’t have.

If they fixed Crowley.

Dean fiddled on his phone a moment more before following his brother, muttering about ‘rabbit food’. The moment both hunters were out of sight, Castiel turned back to Aziraphale. “They’re good men,” he said.

The principality made an indistinct noise.

“They saved the world only last year, at great personal cost. Sam lost his soul, for a while,” Castiel continued. “They’ve had hard lives, influenced by both Heaven and Hell for all their lives.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, eyeing the other angel warily. He had a creeping feeling Castiel was going to ask him something.

“Heaven is in chaos since the loss of both Gabriel _and_ Michael. The angels are divided; Raphael is trying to kickstart the apocalypse again, and I am opposing him. Sam and Dean sacrificed so much to stop it; I can’t just let it all be in vain.”

“And?”

Castiel shot a glance where the hunters had disappeared and lowered his voice. “I’m working on a project that will win the war, but until then need all the help we can get. We could really use someone of your power.”

“I’m not interested in the affairs of Heaven and Hell,” Aziraphale said firmly, voice chilling again. 

Castiel blinked in surprise. “I thought you would want to stop the world ending.”

“I will not get involved in any conflict,” Aziraphale said again, glancing down at Crowley. “I have too much to lose should I do so.”

“Even if the world might end?” The other angel sounded angry now. 

Aziraphale looked back up him, gaze piercing and frozen. “If Crowley dies, I’ll end the world myself.”

Several emotions flickered across Castiel’s face, though the anger remained dominant. He looked as though he was about to say something but decided against it and looked away.

Sam chose that moment to return, holding his phone up triumphantly and his brother hot on his heels. “Bobby has something,” he announced.

“What is it?” Castiel stood, then remembered himself and caught his own motion before his fingers left Crowley’s temple.

“He still has to look up the exact spell, but there are several plants that can be used to heal the effects of Holy water,” Sam joined them at the settee and held his phone out for them to see. A grizzled man in a ballcap filled most of the screen. The top of a book peeked up at the bottom.

“Hello, Bobby,” Castiel rumbled.

“Hey Cas,” the man replied. He glanced up at the camera and squinted. “You must be Aziraphale.”

“I am,” the principality nodded in greeting.

“Looks like an angel from a picture book,” he muttered before returning his gaze to the book he held. Aziraphale chose not to be offended. “According to the lore, Aloes, Vervain, and Wormwood are all demon-friendly herbs, but Willow looks to be the best for this sort of thing. I have a friend of mine tracking down a spell that should bind it to healing magic.”

Hope kindled in Aziraphale’s chest and he looked down at Crowley again, brushing his hand over the demon’s face again. “Crowley, dear?” he murmured.

It took a moment, but Aziraphale knew Crowley was coming out of it when his body tensed. His eyes fluttered open even as he groaned and twitched away from the touch on his temple.

“It’s okay, dearest, he’s helping,” Aziraphale soothed, carefully holding his head still so Castiel didn’t lose contact. “Will Willow help?”

The demon blinked up at the men around him, then met Aziraphale’s gaze and nodded slightly, grunting in affirmation.

“Anything else?” He pressed, squeezing Crowley’s hand to keep him awake even just a moment longer.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment while his throat worked. “Aloe,” he managed to croak.

“Okay, dear. Just hold on; we’ll have you back up in no time,” Aziraphale offered him a wobbly smile.

“I know, Angel,” Crowley said thickly before relaxing back into unconsciousness.

Aziraphale’s eyes prickled and he swiftly blinked. How could Crowley have such confidence in him?

“Right,” Bobby’s voice crackled over the phone speaker. “Sam, take me back to your book and we’ll see what we can find.”

The taller Winchester retreated to his station, but Dean lingered, eyes flicking between Aziraphale and Crowley. He finally worked up the nerve to ask whatever question was burning on his tongue. “So you two are…”

“We’re together, yes.”

Dean swallowed. He may have glanced at Castiel, but Aziraphale couldn’t be sure. “And Heaven’s okay with it?”

“They weren’t,” the principality admitted, “but after their failed attempt at Armageddon they decided it would be best to leave us alone.”

“Right.” Dean stood there awkwardly for a moment, staring at the demon on the settee before abruptly turning and flopping back in his chair to pick up a book again. 

They had a few moments of peace before the shop bell jingled. 

“You didn’t lock the door?” Dean asked, looking at the shop owner with a furrowed brow.

“I did,” Aziraphale said, standing. He kept his fingers tangled with Crowley’s, though it caused his arm to stretch in a way that would probably be uncomfortable had the demon been awake.

Three angels stood in the entrance to the shop, surveying the group of men. 

“Principality Aziraphale,” the lead angel said. It wasn’t quite a greeting, but it wasn’t aggressive either. More… wary, Aziraphale thought.

He should be.

Still, he didn’t know why they were here; it wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions.

Aziraphale straightened his shoulders. “Sandalphon.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify something: in this universe, the angel hierarchy is Archangels (capital A), Principalities, archangels (lowercase a), Seraphs, Guardians. I know that's really mixing up proper lore but... that's how it is for this one. Sorry...

There was a tense silence for a moment as the newest arrivals took in the scene before them. Sam and Dean had both stood, each poised to fight at a moment’s notice. Sam’s phone was face-down on the chair, Bobby’s annoyed voice muffled by the cusion.

Fortunately, the back of the settee was to the door, shielding Crowley’s injuries from the angels.

“It’s been a while,” Aziraphale said, if only to break the silence.

“You’re using quite a bit of miracle power,” Sandalphon’s gaze was shifting between Aziraphale and the other angel beside him. The Principality thought he almost looked _nervous_. 

“And?” Aziraphale lifted his chin defiantly. “I’ve used miracles before.”

“Not like this,” Sandalphon’s eyes narrowed. “We thought you might be stirring up… _trouble_.” He glanced at the human hunters between them. “And now we find you with the Winchesters and the traitor Castiel.”

“I have no interest in Heaven’s politics, and I’ve told them as much. I’m not getting involved.”

The Archangel sniffed in disbelief. “Then what are they doing here?”

He couldn’t tell them about Crowley; Heaven knows about their relationship at this point, but allowing them to find out they had, in fact, switched places would be disastrous. “They made a mess and I’m making them clean it up,” he said instead. It wasn’t an untruth.

“Then you won’t mind if we take a look around?”

Aziraphale hesitated, but there wasn’t anything for him to hide. “Just don’t break anything,” he relented.

The two lower-ranking angels separated, keeping a wary eye on the Winchesters as they disappeared to look over the bookshop. Sandalphon walked around the hunters to make his way to the settee.

Aziraphale stiffened and tried to shield Crowley with his body while turning to keep the intruding Archangel in his line of sight. Said Archangel stopped and appraised the demon for a moment before looking up at Aziraphale with an unreadable expression.

As much as the Principality wanted to stay out of Heaven’s war, he was prepared to kill Sandalphon and his lackeys if it meant keeping the secret of their survival. He would have to be quick; he didn’t think he could keep Crowley stable and fight three angels at once – let alone an Archangel. Castiel’s help was appreciated, but Aziraphale knew the younger angel didn’t have the firepower to do it by himself.

“That _is_ quite a mess,” Sandalphon said. There was a pregnant pause, in which Aziraphale planned how he would attack. “Oh, do relax. We’ve known about your little party trick for years; if we wanted to do something about it, we would have done it long ago.”

Aziraphale must have looked confused, because Sandalphon rolled his eyes. “May we speak in private?” He asked.

The Principality swallowed. Could he trust Sandalphon? He’d hit him before, unprovoked. He had backup only God knows where hiding in his shop. As angry as he was with the Winchesters at the moment, he was confident they would assist him in a fight against the others.

That being said, if the Archangel thought Aziraphale was working with Castiel in this supposed civil war, things could get very bad very fast. He decided to take a calculated risk. “Go get your food,” he told the hunter brothers. “And take your phone, Sam.”

“But-” Dean started to protest, but his brother shushed him.

“You too, Castiel,” Sandalphon said pointedly.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and redoubled his effort to maintain Crowley as Castiel’s assistance vanished. The trio reluctantly left Aziraphale alone with three potential enemies.

Sandalphon moved closer, moving slowly and raising his hands placatingly as Aziraphale tense again. He didn’t do anything; just peered down to get a better look at the slowly spreading damage in Crowley’s back. “I’m impressed you’ve managed to keep it contained,” he said at last.

Aziraphale didn’t answer; his focus was completely on keeping his demon alive.

Sandalphon sighed and reached out the rest a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. The weight of the miracle power Aziraphale was using vanished so fast he felt dizzy. “What are you doing?” he asked the Archangel.

“I need you to listen, and that’s clearly not going to happen while your fussing over him,” he jerked his head in Crowley’s direction.

“How long have you known?” Aziraphale asked before Sandalphon could continue. He didn’t mean to blurt the question, but his mouth worked on its own.

Sandalphon waved his free hand dismissively. “Oh, probably twenty-five years or so? It didn’t take us long to figure it out.”

“Why didn’t you…”

“Finish the job? Kill you?” He looked bemused. “Is that a _complaint_, Aziraphale?”

“No, I just… want to understand.”

“Heaven and Hell agreed it wasn’t worth the effort.”

He said it in a way that made Aziraphale feel slightly insulted, though he knew he should be grateful.

“And Heaven was in disorder, even then,” Sandalphon continued begrudgingly. “Gabriel vanished when it became clear we wouldn’t be able to start the war. It caused confusion in the ranks, and we were still trying to disarm everyone. We realized Azazel was making a move around the time we figured out your ruse. We were busy.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Heaven needs all the help we can get,” he admitted after a moment of contemplation. “Raphael and Castiel have most of Heaven involved in their squabble. Michael is in the Cage, Gabriel and Uriel are dead, and God is gone.” Sandalphon sighed. 

Aziraphale was taken aback. This was not the Sandalphon he remembered. He seemed weary. Tired. “So you want my help.”

The Archangel glared at him, but only for a second. “Civil war will get us nowhere,” he admitted. “I know you don’t want to get involved, Aziraphale, but if you returned to Heaven… the only _true_ neutral party… we might be able to settle things enough to figure out a way forward.”

“I won’t help kickstart Armageddon,” he warned. “The only way for me to protect my own interests is to remain removed.”

“Consorting with the Winchesters is not ‘remaining removed’.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to glare. “They attacked _us_.”

Sandalphon snorted. “They do that.”

Aziraphale looked back down at Crowley. “He was an idiot,” he said quietly. “Thought it would be fun to mess with a pair of paranormal investigators that came to the shop. Evidently they weren’t as dumb as they seemed.”

“The Winchesters have a lot of connections,” the Archangel agreed. “They work with the strangest sorts.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Aziraphale idly wondered where the other two angels had got to and if he should be concerned.

“I don’t expect you to answer me now,” Sandalphon finally said. “Just think about it. I just need a peacekeeper.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I ask.” He looked down at Crowley again, a distinctly disdainful sneer coming across his face. _That_ was the Sandalphon he remembered. “I’ll never understand how you could love a demon.”

“He’ll deny it, but he is rather nice,” Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley’s hand.

The Archangel hummed. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” he muttered before miracling an old roll of parchment into his hand and offering it to Aziraphale. “It will take at least a day to get everything set up.”

Aziraphale hesitantly accepted the scroll and stared at it before hesitantly releasing Crowley’s hand so he could open it. He looked up at Sandalphon with wide eyes. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Consider it a token of good will,” he said. 

Before he could react, Sandalphon reached up and pressed two fingers against Aziraphale’s forehead. Hot white pain flashed through him, blinding him momentarily. His knees nearly gave out as he gasped. When he was able to regain is bearings, he glared at the other angel. “What was that?”

“A little extra miracle power, to hold you over while you gather the ingredients. I’ve stored a little in _him_ as well,” he nodded to Crowley again, “but I can’t give him too much without hurting him. Not compatible and all.” Sandalphon removed his hand from the demon’s shoulder, and the holy water burns didn’t resume their advance.

Aziraphale’s throat had to work for a minute before he could speak again. “I suppose I should thank you.”

Sandalphon sneered and waved him off. “Don’t make me regret it.” He snapped his fingers and his accompanying angels reappeared from between the shelves to stand behind him. “Let me know what you decide.”

Then they were gone.

Aziraphale looked back down at the scroll in his hands. It was incredibly old, but very well maintained. He scanned the fading writing again, committing it to memory before rolling it up and gently placing it in one of his climate control cabinets. He glanced at Crowley again just to make sure he would be alright for a few minutes and headed to the kitchen to start collecting what he had on hand. He could send the hunters for the rest once they returned.

Heaven had barely changed over the course of 6000 years; could it really have changed so much in the last thirty?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I uploaded a chapter earlier today and this one is super short, but I had a super shitty evening and want to post this tonight instead of tomorrow so here you are.

“I just don’t get it,” Sam said, picking his way through the small plant store they’d been able to find. “Why would they just _give_ us the ritual to heal a demon?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Dean growled as he dug through a shelf of herbs. “There’s something Aziraphale isn’t telling us. Why did that Sandalphon guy want to talk to him alone if he was just going to help?”

“I’d expect it’s because he doesn’t like us,” Castiel said.

Dean jumped and grabbed the shelf while he took a deep breath. “Cas, we _talked _about this!”

The angel gave him an annoyed look and held up several large green spikes that looked to have been cut off a plant. “I retrieved the aloe.”

“I can see that,” Dean snarked.

Sam dropped a potted herb into a cart with four other plants. “I think we’ve got everything else here.”

“I still think something else is going on with him,” Dean continued his previous complaint. “Aziraphale was acting shifty.”

“You did throw Holy water on his partner,” Sam pointed out, steering them towards the registers. “I get why he wouldn’t trust us to leave.”

“Demons walking out of traps makes me twitchy,” Dean defended.

“He clearly wasn’t interested in attacking us,” Sam said.

The elder Winchester shot his brother a nasty look. “We had a hostage. What if he wanted to fight once he had the angel?”

“You’re still going with that?”

Their argument was interrupted, as they had reached the front desk and had to fiddle with the foreign money. 

“With that logic, we don’t know Aziraphale won’t attack us once we heal Crowley,” Sam continued once they’d left the store.

“Technically, he doesn’t need us anymore,” Cas added. “He has the ritual.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother and nodded to their angel. “He has a point.”

Dean kept his grumbling under his breath, but he grumbled none the less. This whole trip had turned into a mess; but then again, when did _anything_ go the way they planned?

_______________________

Crowley’s entire body – his entire _essence_ – ached. It burned in a way he’d never before experienced. He tried to block it out, tried to go to sleep and wait it out, but it seemed to be seeping into him, like rain soaking through a jacket. The more saturated he became, the more it hurt, and the harder it was to stay asleep.

Occasionally he could hear Aziraphale talking, though it didn’t seem to be to him. He could feel the brush of his fingers on his face from time to time, and the squeeze of his hand radiating comforting coolness that soothed the burning and seemed to slow the seeping.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, searing with cold. Crowley felt like he was plunged into an icy pond, head swallowed under the water’s surface. He fought against the overwhelming energy pulsing through him until he realized the creeping pain had completely halted its progress.

Aziraphale’s voice still offered him a lifeline to cling to, and cling to it he did. He tried rising out of his self-induced sleep but couldn’t seem to manage it. It was as if someone was holding him down, shoving his head back under cold water. He started struggling again.

Searing pain flashed through Crowley’s entire being, turning everything around him white. Then the hand on his shoulder was gone and he was left shivering in the cold, straining to hear Aziraphale’s voice. It was gone, which distressed the demon even more that the missing chunk of himself that had been eaten away by the advancing burning.

Only it wasn’t creeping anymore. It was still held frozen, rimmed with ice. He could feel the ice slowly melting, but it had _stopped_.

_Aziraphale._

Where had the angel gone? Why couldn’t he hear him anymore.

“Azrrrr… fell….” He slurred, forcing his mouth to work even though the rest of him was dragging him back down. The effort caused his back to burn, now that he could distinctly feel his corporation’s shape.

“Aziraphale,” he tried again when there was no reply.

“Crowley?”

The demon managed to crack his eyes open in time to see Aziraphale rushing into the room from the flat. He dropped to his knees in front of the settee and searched Crowley’s face, hands fluttering over him for a moment before clasping his hand. “How do you feel, dearest?”

“Cold,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale looked torn. “Do you want a blanket? I don’t want to hurt your wound…”

“We’re back,” came another voice from behind the settee, where Crowley couldn’t see.

He frowned for a moment, trying to place where he’d heard the voice before.

_“You’re right where we want you_.”

“Zira-” Crowley choked out, trying to launch himself off the couch to push his angel away. “Run-”

Aziraphale caught him, face going white. “Crowley, dear, don’t move!” He held the struggling demon tight until he calmed, face pressed into the angel’s waistcoat and hands fisted into the fabric. “It’s okay,” Aziraphale soothed, petting Crowley’s hair for a moment before gently depositing him back on the couch. “They’re here to help.”

Crowley grunted as he was moved but remained limp in Aziraphale’s arms until he was back in place. He held onto the waistcoat when the angel pulled away again though, desperate for the contact. 

“He’s awake?” A gruff voice asked, and the trench coat angel came to stand behind Aziraphale. The demon hissed as they were joined by the two hunters.

“Told you,” the shorter one muttered, earning a glare from the tallest.

“Dean, Sam,” Trench coat growled before turning back to Aziraphale. “We got everything on the list.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale said without taking his eyes off Crowley. “The rest of the stuff is in the kitchen. Get it started, and don’t break with anything.”

“You’re not coming with us?” the tall one – Sam? – asked.

“I don’t want to move Crowley until it’s all ready.”

“Right,” the hunter who must be Dean grunted. “We’ll get right on that.”

The trio vanished into the flat, each carrying several plants. 

_They got the herbs,_ Crowley thought with some relief. He’d done quite a bit of research on how to counteract Holy water, but he hadn’t gotten around to telling Aziraphale yet. He hadn’t wanted to freak him out.

“Don’t worry Crowley darling,” Aziraphale murmured, brushing his fingers tenderly through Crowley’s hair. “It’ll take a day to prepare everything correctly, but I can keep you stable until then.”

“I trussst you,” Crowley sighed. He was still cold, but his angel’s touch made it better. His was more a soothing cool as opposed to frigid winter. “I’m going to go back to sssssleep,” he hummed, unable to keep his eyes open. “Sssssee you in a day.”

“See you soon, my love.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support gals and guys; especially yesterday. This one is kind of short again, but hopefully it's a nice wholesome chapter for you! <3

Aziraphale had lived for a long, _long_ time, even before Eden. The century Crowley had slept had been long and lonely. The years they hadn’t talked after the Holy water debacle was even worse. After Aziraphale had given the demon the thermos and was convinced he wouldn’t see his friend ever again, he’d thought eternity would stretch on forever.

The thirty-six hours it took to prepare the ritual to heal Crowley took the longest. It might have gone by faster had Aziraphale been able to help more, but Sandalphon’s boost to the demon only lasted an hour after the Archangel left. Once he felt the power draining from Crowley’s body, Aziraphale was afraid to leave his side. It was easier to maintain him with Sandalphon’s gift of power, but the faster they could finish the spell the better.

“I think it’s ready,” Sam said from the doorway. “It’s green and bubbling. Dean’s drawing the circle now.”

Aziraphale cringed; they had no choice but to draw the circle on his floor, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get the paint up.

“Crowley, dearest?” he murmured, caressing the demon’s cheek as he tried to rouse him.

It took a moment, but yellow eyes slowly flickered open. “Mm?”

“I’m going to pick you up now,” Aziraphale warned him. Crowley nodded and his jaw clenched as the principality wiggled his arms under his patient’s knees and shoulders, careful not to touch the sticky flesh melted by the Holy water. Crowley grunted when he was lifted and clutched Aziraphale’s waistcoat. 

_I’m going to have to iron it,_ the angel thought idly as he carried his friend to the other room.

“We need to lay him in the center,” Casitel said when they entered. “It might be best to remove his shirt.”

Crowley shivered but offered no complaint when Aziraphale gently lowered him to the floor and miracled his shirt gone before helping settle him on his stomach.

“Cold,” he whispered.

“We’ll be done soon,” Aziraphale promised, running his fingers through fiery red hair one last time before scooting back out of the circle. 

Sam edged in once he’d left, a large bowl in his hand. He crouched down next to the demon, who glared at him. The hunter offered Crowley an apologetic look before dipping a large spoon into the bowl and dripping a steaming, viscous green goo on the melted flesh of the demon’s back. Crowley tensed and let out a barely muffled groan. Everyone except Castiel cringed, but Sam continued his task until the affected area was thoroughly coated.

He lit the five candles, each at the point of a star, with a wave of his hand. The smell of sulfur immediately hit his nose and he wrinkled it in disgust. The blue flames flickered high and Aziraphale made a mental note to double check all his books for smoke damage once they were done.

Sam shuffled back to his brother’s side and placed the bowl on a side table. “Right,” he said into the awkward silence. “I think you two should leave the room; holy presence might affect the ritual.” He gestured to the two angels.

Aziraphale and Crowley both looked up in alarm.

“We’re not going to hurt him,” Dean snapped at the principality.

“You already have,” Aziraphale reminded him primly, to which the elder Winchester _hmphed_.

“Well, we’re not going to hurt him now.”

Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze. He wouldn’t leave unless the demon was okay with it, no matter what the spell said. To both his chagrin and relief, the demon gave him a tiny nod before closing his eyes and resting his head back on the floor. “Ssssssee you sssssssoon,” he hissed, words almost obscured by the snake in them.

After a moment’s hesitation more Aziraphale did what was asked of him and followed Crowley back into the main bookshop.

Through the door, Dean’s voice started up, reading in Aramaic. Aziraphale had to say he pronounced them quite well for only practicing a few hours.

“This will work,” Castiel said after a few moments of watching the older angel wring his hands.

Aziraphale jumped, having almost forgotten Castiel was there. He offered him a wan smile. “I hope so.”

There was a dark power slowly building under the shop and Aziraphale suddenly wondered if his wards would prevent the ritual from working. There was nothing for it now; they couldn’t be taken down quickly.

“Why did Sandalphon help you?” Castiel asked suddenly.

“What?”

“I thought they tried to kill you. Why would he help you save Crowley now?”

“Oh, that.” Aziraphale’s shoulder’s slumped. “He said it was an expression of good will.”

“What for?”

The older angel scowled. “What does it matter? Heaven helped and we have a chance of saving him now.”

“It matters if you’re getting involved in Heaven’s affairs again.” Castiel seemed tense, body half-turned as he eyed the principality. “Did Sandalphon ask you to help?”

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Aziraphale said, “and I told him the same thing I told you. I. Am. Not. Interested.”

“And he just gave you the spell anyway?”

Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by a swell in magical power and a sharp yelp from the other room. He darted towards the door, but Castiel’s strong hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

The principality closed his eyes and took a deep breath, unclenching fists he hadn’t realized he’d balled up. “He did,” he said finally.

“That doesn’t sound like Heaven,” Castiel’s tone was low.

Dean’s voice was getting louder in the other room, and Sam was shouting something else. A loud keening sound nearly drowned them out. It took all Aziraphale’s self-control and Castiel’s firm grip to keep him from bursting through the door.

“No,” he agreed, “it doesn’t.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might give you something that would hurt Crowley rather than heal him?”

It was a good thing Aziraphale didn’t need a pulse to survive, because his heart stopped. His eyes went wide, and he was moving before he could even process what he was doing. He ripped Castiel’s hand from his shoulder and twisted his arm back, causing the younger angel to cry out as the bones in his vessel’s arm snapped. He still tried to grab at Aziraphale, who snapped open his wings to the effect of unbalancing the other angel.

“_Crowley!”_ he cried, blasting the door off its hinges as he entered his flat and promptly froze in place.

“Crowley…”

____________

“I don’t like this,” Crowley heard Sam mutter once the door closed behind Aziraphale.

“Not like he gave us a choice,” Dean replied. 

Crowley’s skin prickled, back burning where the hunter had applied the strange green poultice. It was an odd contrast with the cold floor pressing against his bare chest and arms, which his chin rested on. Suffice to say, there was nothing about this situation that was comfortable.

Oh yeah, and he would die if this didn’t work. _Properly_ die.

“Here goes,” Dean mumbled before beginning to speak in clear Aramaic. Crowley was surprised; he hadn’t run into anyone who spoke it in millennia, and this hunter pronounced it well. He wanted to ask where he’d learned to read it, but he didn’t want to risk interrupting and talking hurt.

The stench of sulfur clogged his nose and Crowley had to resist the urge to cough. He’d never like that smell; it reminded him of Hell, and of his Fall.

He could feel something swelling beneath him, something dark and dangerous that was so out of place in Aziraphale’s bookshop he wanted to scream at the wrongness of it. Only a yelp escaped his throat.

The power continued to build, Dean’s voice growing louder as he paced around the circle. It was with great surprise that Crowley realized he was wailing and he had just enough presence of mind to be embarrassed. Everything hurt; his whole body felt like it was on fire, and the floor suddenly seared like consecrated ground. 

Sam started shouting something, but Dean kept reading. Something was squeezing Crowley’s body, wrapping him in wide fingers and crushing him with the force of whatever magic the hunters were reading. He couldn’t move, could breathe, couldn’t _see_.

Then everything stopped.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was bribed with cookies and I'm in a good mood and also nice so enjoy this gift!

Aziraphale had exactly five seconds to take in the scene before him. Crowley hung limp in the air as if held by an invisible hand, head lolled back. The Winchesters stood to the side, Dean with the book still in his hand and Sam with an angel blade drawn. The candles were burning brighter than ever, yet the room seemed so terribly dark.

Then something grabbed Aziraphale and yanked him forward. The moment he crossed over the circle’s border, everything went black and he was in a freefall, body lighting up with fire. He flailed his wings, trying desperately to catch himself in the darkness. There was nothing; no smell, no sound, nothing to see; just endless void and the sensation of every cell, every _atom_, of his essence tearing themselves apart and burning. His wings were in flames.

Aziraphale screamed, but the moment his mouth opened something reached down his throat and began… _scooping_. It scooped out his very core and began to withdraw, leaving a gaping, empty pit where his Grace used to be. 

He smelled brimstone.

“_No!”_

A voice – so familiar and yet so strange – sliced through the darkness. _“Aziraphale!”_ A cold hand suddenly latched on to his. It nearly burned with the chill.

“_Crowley?”_ His voice seemed to come from inside his own head rather than his throat, and it echoed all around him. His hand clenched around the other.

“_Look at me, angel!”_

Aziraphale wrenched his eyes open and found that with him in the flying darkness was Crowley, wings whipping around him as he tried to stabilize himself as well, reaching out with his other hand to grab Aziraphale. The angel met him, both hands gripped tightly as they fell. The chill of his touch soothed the screaming agony filling him, and as it spread up his arms, the aching emptiness inside him faded to a dull throb.

Tears flooded the demon’s eyes, which had gone completely yellow, aside from the tiny slits of his pupils. “_Hold on to me, angel!”_

_“What’s happening?”_ Aziraphale wailed. He’d never known such terror, even thinking Crowley could be dying. _“Where are we?”_

Crowley shook his head and pulled Aziraphale into him, wrapping his arms around the angel’s shoulders and holding him tight. Aziraphale clenched his hands into Crowley’s back, nails digging into the exposed skin and drawing blood. Their wings knocked together and the principality tried to keep his back, keep the flames from spreading to Crowley’s-

But there was no fire now. 

_“Hold onto me,”_ Crowley repeated. _“Hold onto me, don’t let go angel. Don’t let go.”_

Aziraphale sobbed into Crowley’s neck, hugging him as tightly as he could while their tumble tried to rip them apart. “_I’m so scared!”_

_“It’s okay angel. I’ve got you. I love you. No matter what, I love you. It’s going to be okay.”_

Light shattered the darkness, blinding the pair. Aziraphale could hear Crowley gasp as they cringed into each other. The pain filling him was suddenly gone, leaving only a pulsing loss at his center. They were still falling, but time seemed to slow, until they were hanging still, suspended in the nothingness.

Then they hit the floor.

_________________

Crowley didn’t know why it stopped. He was numb, which he supposed was better than hurting, but he was confused.

_“Crowley…”_

Aziraphale’s voice echoed slightly.

As suddenly as things had ceased, they began moving again. Crowley found himself falling through empty space, limbs whipping about as they tried to remember how to work. Panic seized him; he’d been here before. He should never have had to come _back_ here again. Why was he here?

A terrible shriek filled with such familiar pain his core ached in its emptiness shattered the silence around them. Crowley managed to contort his body in the air, searching the darkness with frantic eyes for the source of the scream. Ice was filling him, a cold so terrible it seared him, filled the hollow space inside him.

Crowley saw him. “_No!”_ he screamed. Not him, not here; he’d done nothing wrong! Why was he- he-

The demon forced his wings to cooperate, just enough to propel himself through the emptiness towards the pale shape falling with him. _“Aziraphale!”_ He reached out and just managed to catch the angel’s hand as his whipped past. He nearly dropped it again; his skin caused his flesh to sizzle and bubble. But Crowley held on.

Aziraphale choked out the demon’s name and latched onto his hand in return. Crowley bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out in pain.

_“Look at me, angel!”_ He needed to see, needed to comfort his angel. He couldn’t be- this couldn’t be happening-

He reached out to catch his other hand and the angel met him, even as his still-blue eyes filled with fear. They were wide and terrified, a look that did not fit the angel’s face at all. Crowley ached for him. _“Hold onto me, angel!”_

Aziraphale wailed, asking questions Crowley didn’t have the heart to answer. How could he tell his angel, who relished in goodness and helping people, taking comfort in his books and tea and old, rare wines, that he was Falling?

He shook his head and pulled the angel into him, praying with everything he had not to let this happen, not to banish Aziraphale to a place he wouldn’t be able to stand. As he did so, the sensation of being filled ebbed and Aziraphale’s skin seemed to cool. Crowley could feel his nails drawing blood in the flesh between his wings, but he didn’t care. As long as he had his best friend.

Crowley was babbling, he knew. Saying whatever he could to try and comfort Aziraphale in what he knew was the most horrifying thing he could go through. Crowley wouldn’t have wished this on his worst enemy. That his best friend, the being he loved with every part of him, had to endure this was…

Well, it was hell.

_“I’m so scared!”_

Crowley’s heart broke and he held Aziraphale even tighter. _“I love you. No matter what, I love you.”_ He had been here before; he would help Aziraphale adjust. They would figure it out; they could make it back to earth. They could do this, as long as they were together.

Then there was light, and he didn’t feel quite so cold, and Aziraphale didn’t feel quite so hot against him. He couldn’t see through the brightness, but he knew they weren’t moving any more. He still didn’t let go of Aziraphale; he didn’t remember this part. They should be landing in a pit of sulfur and fire now, not hanging in nothingness.

Then there was wood beneath their feet, beneath their bodies, as they collapsed to the floor, still tangled together. Their wings were splayed around them and it was a miracle neither of them landed on the delicate bones in a way to crack them.

There were several moments of silence where they were just breathing, just holding onto each other and assuring themselves they were still together. Crowley’s vision finally adjusted and he found they were back in Aziraphale’s flat. His eyes flicked over Aziraphale’s face, searching for any difference, any sign of demonic energy. He certainly felt different to his senses, but there was still the feeling of holiness.

Aziraphale’s eyes slowly blinked open. Still clear blue, though tinted with pain and fear and confusion. “Crowley?” He whimpered.

“I’m here, we’re here. We’re okay,” Crowley pulled his friend into his chest, cradling Aziraphale and petting his hair. Their chins rested on each other’s shoulders for a moment before Aziraphale tensed.

“Crowley…”

It was only then Crowley noticed the change to his angel. “Aziraphale… your _wings_.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the next bit! This one is going to have a lot less tension and some more comfort.   
I think there will only be one or two more chapters after this. I'm going to try to make sure it's done before Nov 1 because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year and I really want to try to use it to finish the novel I've been working on for ages.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean barely had enough time to register that Aziraphale was in the room before the angel was yanked forward, as if by a string. “Cas, stay out!” he cried before he and Sam were thrown back by a blinding explosion. Dean hit the wall hard enough to drive the air from his lungs and make his head spin. He heard Sam’s angel blade clatter to the floor.

“Sammy?” Dean wheezed, groping through his blindness to find his brother.

“I’m okay,” Sam replied.

Dean relaxed, squinting and blinking as his vision slowly returned. He could feel blood dripping down the side of his head, and when he could finally focus on Sam, he saw that his brother was tenderly holding his side.

There was a small blast zone in which the ground and ceiling were blackened and furniture had been thrown. In the center lay the angel and demon in a knot of limbs with their wings flung haphazardly around them, as if they’d fallen a great distance. They were holding each other tightly, Crowley whispering to his angel as Aziraphale sobbed into his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Zira, I’m here, we’re both here. It’s okay,” the demon said, carding his fingers through Aziraphale’s pale hair while his other hand rubbed between the angel’s wings.

“It h-hurts…”

Crowley’s eyes clenched shut. “I know. I know darling. It’ll be okay, you’re okay my love. It’s okay.”

Dean had never seen a demon express such tenderness before and he began to realize just how big of a mistake he’d made. “What have I done?” he whispered.

Crowley’s head snapped up, gaze locking onto Dean’s. His eyes were completely yellow, his slit pupils so thin they were almost invisible. The demon clenched Aziraphale tighter as rage filled his face. “You _knew_,” he snarled, and even if he’d had normal eyes, he would have looked feral. His skin was gray, and Dean could swear there were scales around the demon’s jaw and neck. “You _knew_ what it would do.”

“I didn’t think…”

“No,” the demon interrupted, wings puffing up, “you didn’t. We did _nothing to you!”_

“Dean!” Cas called from the doorway as he stumbled in, cradling his left arm against his chest and searching the wreckage for the hunter.

“And _you_,” Crowley turned his ire on Cas, “will stay where you are.”

The angel froze mid-step. 

“Why are their wings gray?” Sam asked quietly.

This was followed by particularly loud sob from Aziraphale, who was still clinging to Crowley and crying. The demon drew himself up into more of a sitting position, dragging his angel with him and glaring at the younger Winchester. “Ssssssshut up.”

Sam’s mouth snapped shut.

For the first time in all of this, Dean was genuinely afraid. What had Ed and Harry gotten them into? They’d come expecting Gabriel, not an angel and a demon running a book store together. After that they’d acted on pure instinct. Demons were bad. End of story.

Or so he’d thought.

“You’re lucky _he’s_ here,” Crowley said in a low voice, eyes back on Dean. “I once dropped a bomb on a church to get him out of trouble. I was going easy on you before, for him. But now I’m _angry.”_

Dean swallowed. He wanted to try to explain, try to apologize, try to tell the demon that he hadn’t really understood what was going on until that moment, but he couldn’t make his voice work. He knew it wouldn’t be enough anyway.

“Get out,” the demon snapped. “Go back to your hotel room. Wait for me. Do not leave, do not call anyone, do not _speak_ to anyone. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. And you, _Casssssstiel,_ will not use your power.”

Dean watched with horror as his best friend shuddered in place, eyes rolling back into his head for a moment before he collapsed to his hands and knees, gasping.

“Get. _Out._”

Dean scrambled to Cas’s side to help him up. The angel leaned heavily against his side, breathing labored. Sam joined them, wincing as he moved. The trio quickly hobbled out of the shop and soon found themselves back in their hotel room, though they couldn’t remember the actual walk.

“What have I done,” Dean said again. “What have I _done?”_

________________________

Crowley watched them go, movements jerky and sloppy due to his miracle. He was surprised he had any energy left to perform one so powerful – Castiel was strong, even though he was young – but he managed to get it done. The moment they were gone, however, Crowley slumped under Aziraphale, grip relaxing. Aziraphale responded by tightening his own hold, drawing a wince from the demon. He could feel blood dripping down his freshly healed back – at least there was that – but he couldn’t bring himself to ask his best friend to let go.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Crowley finally said. 

Aziraphale said nothing; only shuddered in his arms and nuzzled his face further into the crook of Crowley’s neck. His breaths were starting to come deeper now as the sobs tapered off into quiet whimpering. “It hurts,” he whispered again.

Crowley squeezed him, tears threatening to spill over. But he had to stay strong for Aziraphale; what he was going through was much worse. Crowley tenderly reached out and ran his fingers over his friend’s feathers. He’d expected them to be black, burned to coal during his Fall. Instead they were ashy grey. His own were the same color, the meaning of which Crowley didn’t want to think to hard about at the moment.

Aziraphale stiffened at the contact and Crowley froze. “Does this hurt?” he murmured.

After a moment Aziraphale shook his head without removing it. “What happened?” He asked. Crowley felt the question mouthed against his skin more than he heard it, but he understood it none the less.

He couldn’t lie; not about this. He’d never been able to lie to Aziraphale anyway. “We Fell,” he murmured.

“But… you _can’t_ have Fallen again. You can only Fall once… right?” Aziraphale finally shifted in his arms and looked up at him, wide blue eyes stained red with tears.

“I didn’t think so,” Crowley said, adjusting his position so he could pull Aziraphale into his lap and hold him in a way that would be far more comfortable for both of them. Aziraphale let out a hiccupping sigh as he relaxed into Crowley’s chest, though he still didn’t retract the fingers digging furrows into his back. “This wasn’t entirely what it was like last time.”

“What was… last time?” The question was so quiet and hesitant Crowley almost didn’t catch it.

“I landed in a pit of boiling sulfur rather than an angel’s bookshop floor, for one.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched. “I don’t think I’m an angel anymore,” he whispered.

“You’re not a demon.”

“Neither are you.” Aziraphale looked up at him again. Something clicked in his eyes. “Your back!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley said, but Aziraphale was already wriggling in his arms to peer over his shoulder.

“No, the Holy water, what if- oh,” he said softly. He slid back down, pulling his arms away to look at the blood coating his fingers. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, angel,” Crowley said, then winced as the endearment slipped out and Aziraphale flinched. “I’m sorry.” He buried his face in Aziraphale’s hair and held him tightly, wrapping his wings around them the best he could. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If only I’d listened-”

“No, no, Crowley, this isn’t your fault my dear, stop-”

They babbled over each other, both apologizing and trying to comfort the other for some time before they finally quieted and sat in silence for a rather long time. Several hours had to have passed before Aziraphale finally stirred and ran his fingers through Crowley’s untidy feathers. “They’re rather beautiful,” he said.

Crowley twitched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Grooming each other’s wings was something they saved for days when they were both stressed and needed to unwind; they rarely manifested them anymore, and to touch another’s wings was quite possibly the most intimate thing an ethereal or occult being could do.

“They do look good on you,” Crowley hummed, stroking Aziraphale’s feathers as well. He rubbed at the joint that connected Aziraphale’s wing to his back and his friend melted into him. 

“They’re like starlight,” he sighed.

Crowley paused. He’d helped build the stars, spun the galaxies. They were his favorite thing to look at; aside from Aziraphale, that is. “They are.”

His voice came out a little more strangled than he would have liked and Aziraphale noticed. He looked up at him again, face soft. He offered Crowley a small smile before pressing his lips gently against his friend’s.

“Let me comb your wings?” he asked when he’d pulled away.

Crowley nodded mutely, reluctantly releasing Aziraphale from his embrace and turning as his partner shuffled around behind him and got to work straightening the crumbled feathers.

“It’s a strange feeling,” Aziraphale said. 

“What is?”

“Feeling… empty. Or… mostly empty? I felt my Grace get taken, but now I feel like some of it is still there.”

Crowley winced as Aziraphale tugged a broken feather out, but the former angel quickly smoothed his hand over the site. “Ah.” He swallowed, unsure of what to say for a minute. “I feel full…er. I’ve grown… accustomed… to the empty space, but now there’s something there.” He glanced back at his best friend, their eyes meeting. “I think it’s you.”

“So we are neither angel nor demon,” Aziraphale said.

“Or human,” Crowley added.

“So… I Fell…” his hands shook as he ran them over the peaks of Crowley’s wings. “But you Raised me back up?”

Crowley twisted completely around, holding one wing out at an awkward angle to avoid hitting Aziraphale with it. “What makes you think it was me?”

Aziraphale blushed but offered him a smile. “It hurt less, once you grabbed me. It felt like… like Grace was seeping from your hands into mine.”

Their gazes held for a moment while Crowley thought about it. He remembered how cold he’d been until he’d reached out to Aziraphale, how full to bursting he’d been. How he’d prayed so hard for Aziraphale not to Fall. “So… your Grace was put into me… and I gave it back?”

“Some of it, I believe,” Aziraphale broke their eye contact and returned to grooming, his hands still shaking.

Crowley studied him for a moment. “We don’t have to talk about this right now, if you don’t want to. I know Falling is traumatic…”

“I’m okay, I think.” Aziraphale’s hands fussed at a particularly stubborn feather before he sighed. “I’m going to have to pull this one,” he warned before doing so, making Crowley flinch.

“Ow.”

“Sorry my dear.”

They returned to comfortable silence until Aziraphale finished and Crowley demanded his turn. Though ashy when they’d started, the feathers looked started to look more silver as they were smoothed into place. Crowley only had to pluck a few that were broken beyond repair, and none of them primaries, fortunately.

“Look at all the damage,” Aziraphale tutted, looking around the room once they’d both found the strength to stand.

Crowley rubbed a comforting hand across his partner’s back. “We’ll fix it,” he promised.

“You know? I rather don’t want to.”

“What?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I’ll always know; I can feel the dark spot.” He leaned into Crowley’s side. “I think it’s about time we sell the shop anyway, don’t you?”

Crowley didn’t jump, but it was a near thing. Aziraphale, sell the shop? He’d been warding off such offers for _decades_, ever since he opened the place. It had been his den, his home. It was the place they’d gotten sloshed uncountable times. It was the place they’d first kissed. The place they’d first made love. 

It was also the place Aziraphale had discorporated for the first time. The place Crowley had dashed into the flames to find his angel gone, lost, presumably dead. 

It was the place they’d Fallen together.

“Yes, I think it is.”

“We always have the cottage, anyway,” Aziraphale continued. “We can move the books out there, maybe set up a library room.”

“I think that sounds excellent.” Crowley pressed a kiss to his partner’s temple.

The grandfather clock in the main shop chimed noon.

“Goodness, is it really that time?”

“How long has it been?” Crowley’s brow furrowed. He’d been pretty out of it before.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “We started around eight in the morning yesterday?”

Crowley’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “We’ve been sitting here a full day?”

“Longer, it seems.”

The former demon sighed. “I have to deal with the hunters,” he murmured.

“Yes, I rather think you do.” Aziraphale rested his chin on Crowley’s shoulder, gazing up at him. “Don’t be too harsh on them, dear. They _have_ done a lot of good for the world, even if they’ve not done much good for us.”

“Ang- Aziraphale, they made you _Fall_.”

“And they made you _Rise_,” Aziraphale reminded him, reaching up to caress his face. “Besides, I think that was more Sandalphon.”

“Sandalphon?”

The former angel suddenly looked contrite. “Oh, um, yes. He came to the shop a couple days ago and… well, he gave me the ritual. The one we used to…”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “You trusted _Sandalphon_?”

Aziraphale grew flustered. “I was a mess! You were dying and I was exhausted, trying to keep you alive, and the Winchesters were rummaging through my shop-” He took a deep breath. “Well, he helped you before he left, and he gave me a little extra miracle power to keep you stable until the ritual was ready. I didn’t really think to double check the spell’s fine print after that.”

“I think you ought to have a word with ol’ Sandy.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Yes, I rather think I do.” He stood on his toes to peck Crowley’s lips before stepping away. “You go and speak with the hunters; I’ll get in touch with Sandalphon.”

“Do you really want to face him alone?”

The former angel turned back to him, a cold smile on his face. “Yes; yes I do.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this officially has a larger word count than my novel.... Hopefully I can change that for NaNo!
> 
> There will be one more shirt chapter to the story, and thank you so much for your patience with the wait for this one. Thank you also for reading and sticking with me to the end; all your comments and love always make my day! I will be writing more in this series - I already have a couple of one-shots for this planned, and t he beginnings of another longer story in the works. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS: I did not beta this so please let me know if you see any typos or inconsistencies!

Crowley could have miracle himself to the hotel, but he enjoyed the walk. It was different than any other walk he’d taken upon the earth. He’d always been able to sense peoples’ darkest thoughts; their temptations, hurts, and fears. Now, however, he could sense something warmer. It could only be love; it felt the same way Aziraphale had once tried to describe it to him. It was an odd sensation; it almost tickled, feather-light upon his skin.

He didn’t dwell on it, however; he wanted to wait to focus on it until he could give all his attention to Aziraphale.

He didn’t bother knocking; the door opened for him, and the two hunters and their angel stood inside. It angered him, that the man in a trenchcoat could still be called _angel_ when his own angel couldn’t.

They all stared at him, a myriad of emotions on their faces. The hunters both looked somewhat frightened – _good_ – and Castiel was a mix between angry and exhausted. His left arm was bound against his chest in a typical sling.

“Right then,” Crowley said, the door swinging shut behind him as he advanced into the room. Dean positioned himself between him and the other two. _How cute,_ Crowley thought. He contemplated removing him from his protective position but decided against it. “What are we going to do with you?”

Dean made a muffled noise, but his lips were still sealed together.

Crowley smiled at him, not bothering to hide the menace in his face. “I want you to know that the _only_ reason I’m not smiting you here and now is because Aziraphale asked me not to. Even though you attacked us unprovoked, tried to kill me, and then used a spell you knew would _make him Fall_, he asked mercy on your behalf. So,” Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to be generous and give you the opportunity to explain yourselves.”

He released their mouths and folded his arms, leaning against the wall as he waited.

All three of the men stretched their jaws, sharing cautious looks. Castiel tried to inconspicuously flick his hand and Crowley snickered. “I’ve still got you by the short ones, _angel_.” He hissed the word with a venom it had never held when spoken of Aziraphale. “No miracles for you. Now spill.”

Dean swallowed. “We didn’t realize-”

“I didn’t ask for _excuses!_” Crowley snapped, fangs flashing before he managed to get hold of his temper again. He had new powers he was unfamiliar with; it would be best to keep his emotions under control. He took a deep breath. “Try again.”

“We got a call from Ed and Harry,” Dean said, voice only trembling a little to his credit. “They were asking for advice about a handling a Trickster. The only Trickster we’ve run into was Gabriel.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’d heard he went funky.”

This earned him a small glare from the taller brother. “He died trying to stop Lucifer,” he snapped.

_These hunters really have no respect for power,_ the former demon thought, fighting the urge to yawn. “Good for him. Can’t say I’m sorry for the wanker.”

“I know you’re a demon and all, but if you really did stop another apocalypse, you should be grateful,” Sam shot back.

Crowley stood up straight, arms dropping to his sides. “He made Aziraphale walk himself into a pillar of Hellfire,” he snarled. “Do you know what he said to him when Aziraphale treated him with kindness? ‘Shut up and die already.’”

The human brothers looked taken aback, but Castiel only seemed mildly surprised.

“If Aziraphale walked into Hellfire in his own corporation he should be dead,” Castiel rasped.

Crowley dropped back against the wall and folded his arms again. “We figured out a way around that.”

“Was this the ‘party trick’,” Castiel used finger quotes, “Sandalphon mentioned?”

Cold fear doused Crowley. “What?”

“When the other angels showed up, Sandalphon said ‘we’ve known about the party trick for a while’… or something along those lines,” Sam explained. “He said if they wanted to do something about it, they would have already done it. I think he was worried Aziraphale was going to attack him.”

Crowley hadn’t even thought about that; he knew Sandalphon had showed up, but the thought that seeing him in the state he’d been in would have ruined their secret. If the thug archangel knew, that meant Aziraphale was in danger.

___________________________________

Sandalphon regarded Aziraphale with a nearly blank face – _nearly_ being the operative word. There was a tiny flicker of surprise when he appeared in the bookshop, alone as requested, though Aziraphale suspected he had other angels ready to come down at a moment’s notice. “Aziraphale,” he greeted.

“Sandalaphon,” Aziraphale said. He let his anger bleed into his words. “I would have expected something like this from Gabriel or Michael, but you?” He gestured to the scorch marks covering a good portion of his flat.

The archangel glanced dispassionately over it. “Did it work?”

Aziraphale felt his lip curling. “What do you mean, ‘did it work’? What exactly was it meant to do?”

“You wanted to save your _demon lover_ from Holy water. The only way to do that was to make him Rise. And the only way to do _that-_”

“Is to make another angel Fall,” Aziraphale finished for him.

Sandalphon smiled, but it was a cold smile. “If it’s any consolation, I was hoping it would be Castiel.”

“It wasn’t,” Aziraphale said coldly.

Sandalphon tilted his head. “You don’t appear to be a demon, but we received notification of your Fall,” he mused.

“I _did_,” the former angel suppressed a shudder. He wasn’t ready to talk about it quite yet, especially not with Sandalphon. 

Confusion flickered over the Archangel’s face. “We didn’t see anything about Crowley joining the angelic ranks.”

“He didn’t.”

The confusion lingered this time as he stared at Aziraphale through narrowed eyes, gauging him. The former angel let him, waiting to see if the thug figured it out. After a few minutes passed, Sandalphon’s eyes widened in fear. 

There was a gentle _frush_ as Aziraphale’s wings burst into existence. 

“What _are_ you?” Sandalphon whispered.

“I was rather hoping you might tell me.”

The Archangel struggled for an answer for another few minutes. “This war’s been hard,” he finally said, voice rushed as he tried to explain himself. “I hoped if the Winchesters helped you with the spell, Castiel would be within range and he would Fall. The angels following him would disband and things would end.”

“You didn’t think to warn _me?”_ Aziraphale hissed – he spent _far_ too much time with Crowley, it seemed, since he was picking up his habits. “I wouldn’t wish Falling on anyone, but Castiel is not exactly in my good graces at the moment either.”

Sandalphon shrugged. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “If it got you, well… I never really liked you and you needed to be punished anyway.”

Aziraphale felt his wings puff up in rage and was suddenly rather glad Crowley wasn’t here for this, or he might attack the Archangel without thinking.

“I’m going to give you a warning, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale said. “You are going to leave us alone – for good this time – and Heaven’s war be _damned_. I no longer hold a stake in either side.”

This finally seemed to shake Sandalphon, who took a subtle step back. “We?”

“Crowley survived,” Aziraphale snapped. “And since we are no longer tied, there is no reason for Heaven _or_ Hell to keep tabs on us anymore.”

“Do you really think we can allow something… something like _you_ to roam the earth unfettered?” Sandalphon drew himself up, and Aziraphale could sense his power growing. He braced himself. “I’m afraid you’d be quite mistaken.”

The Archangel moved fast, water splashing out from a pitcher that miraculously appeared in his hands. Aziraphale didn’t move as the Holy water drenched him. Sandalphon froze, eyes wide. _Now_ he was finally worried. Aziraphale casually wiped the water from his eyes and brushed his hair from his face. “Not a demon,” he reminded him.

Sandalphon was suddenly gone, leaving Aziraphale alone in his flat once again. “Coward,” he muttered before making his way to the phone to let Crowley know he was finished and would be on his way to the hotel.

“Aziraphale?” the former demon’s voice was frantic. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” he assured his panicked partner. “What on earth is the matter?”

“Sandalphon knows!”

“Yes dear, but it isn’t a problem. I’ve just finished talking with him now.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“He tried… but didn’t succeed. It would appear I’m still immune to Holy water.” It had been a gamble, but the former angel was glad he hadn’t gone demon enough to have that particular weakness. “He just took off after that.”

Crowley’s relieved sigh crackled through the earpiece. “You’d best get out of there, angel.” Aziraphale flinched, but Crowley continued on. “I bet he’ll be back.”

“I think you’re right. I’m on my way to you right now.”

“See you soon.”

Aziraphale dropped the phone back into its cradle, glanced around the shop one more time before snapping his fingers, and rushing out the door, leaving bare shelves in his wake. He wouldn’t need to come back here again.

____________________________

Crowley hung up the phone, closing his eyes against the wave of relief that spilled over him. Aziraphale was okay and on his way over. They were safer together, after all. The former demon tucked his phone in his pocket and returned his gaze to the trio.

“What are the odds he would call you just as you were calling him?” Sam said.

Crowley hushed him. “Now that’s out of the way, finish explaining,” he told Dean.

The older hunter glared at him, but did as commanded. “Like I said, we were looking for Gabriel. We found you instead.”

“That doesn’t explain why you attacked us,” Crowley snapped.

Dean shrugged. “You’re a demon- _were_, were a demon.” He quickly corrected himself when Crowley bared his teeth. “Our job,” he gestured to himself and his brother, “is to kill demons. We didn’t know… we didn’t _think_.”

“Obvioussssssly,” Crowley hissed.

“We didn’t think demons could be… good?”

The former demon tensed. “I’m not-” he cut himself off. He wasn’t a demon anymore. He was allowed to be good now… right? Maybe? Some small part of him felt the need to defend himself against the word, but there was nobody looking over his shoulder now. He chose to grunt instead. “That’s what happens when you shoot first and ask questions later,” he sniffed.

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

“Why did you make my angel Fall?” He asked, voice hard again.

“We didn’t mean to,” Sam said, cutting his brother off. “We read through the spell and we knew what it was trying to do, so we sent Aziraphale and Crowley out of the room. We didn’t think he would be stupid enough to come back in.”

“Why didn’t you tell him what was at stake?” Crowley demanded, fingernails digging into his own arms.

“I tried to,” Castiel interjected, “but he panicked before I could finish. I tried to hold him back.” He glanced pointedly down at his broken arm.

“I rather think you should have told me what was going to happen before you started the spell,” Aziraphale said, appearing behind Crowley and making the Winchesters jump. Castiel only eyed the pair warily. “Why haven’t you healed yourself?”

“He’s somehow blocked my powers,” Castiel glared at Crowley, who merely flashed him a cheeky grin. He felt much better now that Aziraphale was with him again.

“Darling,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley ignored him, turning his attention back to Dean, who seemed to be leading the conversation anyway.

“So, what, you figure ‘oh it’s a demon and an angel running a bookshop. Let’s knock one over the head and throw Holy water on the other, and that will solve all our problems’?”

The hunter had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed. “Demons we interact with don’t walk through devil’s traps,” he said sheepishly. “I panicked.”

Sam gave his brother an odd look, and Crowley got the sense this was an out of character admission.

“I didn’t think things would get this complicated,” Dean continued. “I didn’t really realize what kind of mistake I made until…” He coughed.

“Until when?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently, but once again the former demon ignored him.

“Until after the spell. I realized something evil could never be so…” the hunter flushed and looked away. “Gentle.”

Something softened in Crowley, but he maintained his stiff posture. 

“Right.” He cleared his throat and stood up off the wall. “You have two choices. Either I smite you here and now for hurting Aziraphale-”

“_Crowley,_” the former angel tried to interrupt.

“-or you apologize. And you’ll owe us. _Big_. Anything we ask, the moment we ask it.”

The trio shared a look, expressions guarded. 

“Dean,” Cas started, but the older Winchester waved him off, holding Crowley’s gaze.

“We apologize and _I_ owe you,” he said firmly, eyes blazing. “I’m the one who threw the Holy water and started this mess. _I_ owe you, and you leave these two out of it.”

There was a tense silence, in which Crowley and Dean stared at each other, neither wavering as the former demon considered his counter offer. “Aziraphale?” he asked without breaking the staring contest.

“I think it’s rather fair, my dear,” the former angel said, “though I do believe it is ultimately up to you. You’re the one he hurt, after all.”

Crowley’s eye twitched but he decided not to argue semantics at the moment. He would take a thousand Holy water baths if it meant his partner never had to Fall, even half way. “Done.” He waved his hand, released the rest of his miracle holding the hunting trio. Cas sighed and stood up straighter, tugging his arm out of his sling and stretching it with a mild grimace.

“I do apologize,” Aziraphale said to him.

Crowley shot him a sharp look, but quickly settled his gaze back on Dean. “I’m waiting.”

The older Winchester’s lips pressed together.

“I’m sorry we attacked you,” Sam said, stepping around his brother. “We should have tried talking to you before jumping to conclusions.” This last part was directed at Aziraphale, who nodded his acceptance.

“I too apologize,” Castiel added, “for not leading with the proper warnings about the spell, and for not approaching you the moment I arrived in London.”

Crowley’s eyes slid back to Dean, who was still making a face. It was his apology the former demon wanted the most, as it was clearly a struggle with the hunter’s pride.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. His jaw worked for a moment before he continued. “I’m sorry for reacting out of hand. You were just defending your own. I would have done the same in your place.”

Crowley stared at him, making him squirm for a moment more before nodding and relaxing his stance. “You owe us, don’t forget.” He snapped his fingers and the trio and all their gear were gone from the hotel.

“Where on earth did you send them?” Aziraphale asked, staring up at the former demon with suspicion.

He shrugged. “Back home. I wanted them out of here as soon as possible.”

“Ah. Good.”

They strolled from the hotel, pausing only when they hit the street again. “Where should we go?”

“Home, I suppose,” Crowley mused, taking Aziraphale’s arm and steering him towards where he’d parked the Bentley when he’d returned to Soho days before. There was a boot on the tire, but it clicked and fell off the moment the former demon’s hand touched the door. “We’ve got a study to set up.”

Aziraphale offered him a small smile as Crowley held the door for him and slid into the car. Crowley quickly followed. He wanted nothing more than to be home with his partner, to curl up in bed together and sleep for who knows how long, until all of this had settled.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Aziraphale said quietly once they were out of the city.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, “but not tonight.”

The former angel hummed and leaned his head back against the seat. “Wake me when we’ve arrived?”

“Of course, angel.”

Crowley didn’t miss the subtle flinch at the endearment. 

“Aziraphale, I never called you ‘angel’ because of what you were,” he said gently. “Surely you know that by now.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the passenger seat. “I know.”

“If you want me to stop, then I will, but… you’ll always be my Angel.”

Aziraphale sniffled, but Crowley saw him nod from the corner of his eye. “Okay.”

The former demon smiled. “Get some rest, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! 
> 
> If you liked it, please check out my other Good Omens stories. If you like my writing in general, I'd love it if you checked out my blog at heatherwolffe.com where I post original work and respond to writing prompts.
> 
> If you want me to write a fic, feel free to send me prompts to post on here too! You can ask in the comments or email me at flywolf33@gmail.com. I'm also on tumblr at https://flywolfwriting.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Thanks again, love you all!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is _actually_ the last chapter this time.
> 
> Like I said last time, I do have more in this series cooking! I don't think I'll be able to post much in November though since I'll be focusing on NaNo, but if you have any one-shot requests (in this series or as a stand-alone one-shot, whatever!) let me know! I love filling them!
> 
> Thanks again so much for sticking with me and enjoying this fic. I hope this gives you a little more closure on the Winchesters' side of things!

Dean blinked in confusion. It took a second for his vision to clear, but when it did and he was able to think straight again, he realized he was back in Bobby’s living room.

“What in the hell-”

The older Winchester turned to see the older man in his standing in the doorway with his shotgun.

It took another few seconds for Dean to realize what had happened. “I friggin _hate angels!”_

“He’s not an angel, Dean,” Cas reminded.

“Or a demon, anymore,” Sam added.

“What in the hell are you idjits doin’ showing up in my living room this early in the morning?”

Dean looked at the clock and saw that it was almost eight in the morning. “I think he teleported us back,” he grouched.

“Ya _think_?” Bobby scoffed, lowering his weapon and eyeing the trio. 

“I must get back,” Cas said before vanishing.

The three hunters stared at the spot the angel had occupied moments before. “Typical,” Dean huffed before turning and stomping to the kitchen to find a beer.

“Dean, wait!” Sam chased after him with Bobby hot on his heels.

“What?”

“You’re gonna drink this early?” Bobby asked.

Dean popped the cap off his collected beverage and took a deep swig before glaring at his father-figure. “It was _noon_ for us one freakin’ minute ago!”

Bobby shrugged. “Fair. Now are either of you going to explain to me what the hell happened? Last I heard from you was two days ago about some spell the angels gave you?”

The elder Winchester leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms the best he could with a bottle in one hand and took another drink, scowling. 

Sam gave him the chance to answer before speaking up. “Yeah, um, they did. It… it made Crowley Rise?” His made a face. “It healed the Holy water burns, but it also made Aziraphale Fall.”

Bobby’s eyes grew wide. “You made the Principality of the Eastern Gate Fall?”

“Eastern Gate?” Sam asked.

“I did some research on this Aziraphale and Crowley while you two idjits were playing witch, but we can talk about that later. You made the _Guardian of Eden_ Fall?”

“We didn’t mean to,” Dean snapped. “We told him to leave the room, but then Cas had to go and freak him out and he came running back in before we were done.”

Bobby fixed him with a pointed stare but said nothing.

“The thing is,” Sam continued hesitantly, glancing between the older hunters, “he didn’t Fall all the way. And Crowley didn’t Rise all the way. They… they somehow met in the middle, I think?”

“What?”

“I don’t know; both their wings were gray, but neither of them seemed to change that much other than that.”

“Okay, but you made the Principality Aziraphale Fall and you’re still _breathin’?_”

“We’ve gotten out of stickier situations,” Dean said, mildly offended.

The senior hunter gave him a bitchy look – one that so far only he and Sam had perfected. “I know that, dumbass. But these two faced down Heaven and Hell and convinced them to leave them alone – for _each other_. Hell, they’re closer than you and Sam. Have been as long as they’ve been on earth, from what I’ve found.” Bobby paused. “If you made his angel fall, I’m scratching my head as to why Crowley let you go.”

“Dean made a deal.”

“Sam!”

“You _what_?”

Dean glared at his brother before taking another swallow of beer. “It’s not like the other ones, Bobby,” he grumbled. “Besides, it’s not like I had a choice. It was either owe him a favor, or he’d smite us.”

“He said he’d _smite_ you? What about Cas?”

“Crowley powered him down. Dude had a broken arm, too.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Bobby asked, and if Dean didn’t know better he’d think the grizzled hunter looked _hurt_.

“We couldn’t,” Sam answered. “He did something… we couldn’t talk. Not even to each other.”

Bobby grunted. “Well, what do you owe him?”

Dean shrugged, finished his beer, and swiped another one off the counter. “He said anything, any time. Whenever he calls.”

Bobby stared at him for a moment. “Ya damn idjit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Well, they’ve both got a pretty good ‘no interference’ streak going; let’s hope they stick to it.”

The brothers agreed and Bobby pulled them each into a tight hug before grumbling about getting some work done.

“Look on the bright side,” Sam said as they followed the older hunter from the kitchen, “at least we didn’t have to fly.”

“Shut up.”


End file.
